The End of the World: 32nd Hunger Games
by WhymsicalBell
Summary: The capital helicopter departed, the silent arena stared back, the clock ticked down, 24 bloodthirsty eyes locked on the prize and so the games began. This games was everything and nothing - the end of the world - seemingly. 32nd Hunger Games - SYOT. discontinued. sorry, author's note inside :(
1. Prologue - The Promonition

The End of the World: 32nd Hunger Games SYOT

Prologue - The Premonition

* * *

The roaring tides and hustle and bustle of the capital vehicles momentarily halted their transits for the night. The white-collar workers departed their privileged jobs and the city was swept up in an evening translucence, as a hush settled upon it and families toddled to their homes for the night. Televisions switched on, as the latest announcement for the annual Hunger Games came up.

In the distance, the districts slept and bore another day's worth of hard labour on their backs before retiring to their homes, the unfortunate ones staying out on prolonged shifts. Another day, another disgruntled, tired, aimless day drifting through the mediocrity of life until life threw them a chance, an opportunity on a wishbone such as the Hunger games could be, should they wish to play the game. They would be retiring in the silence of their homes and family life for now, but in a few week's time, the announcement for the annual Hunger Games would make it's way to their medias too.

"Greetings all!" It was the 32nd Hunger Games, very much so in it's beginning and one of it's earlier periods. The stylists, announcers and all the rest typically lasted between 10 and 20 years before drying up and moving onto elsewhere in life, fresh faces came forward to take on the new roles of the beautifying of the pre-dead. The good ones stayed for a long time, but there weren't many that really struck a chord with the capital at the moment right now. So it was Milo Montgomery and Freddy Mann who did the commentary. Milo was a younger man of flaming brown hair with red sparks, a tendency for swooping gestures and theatrics, and Freddy was an ageless man of probably middle-age, but no one could put a finger on it, with almost transparent and scale-like hair of blue and purple tint sometimes with an almost reflective glean. He was 'odd' in a way unfamiliar with the capital audience, but apparently not to the extent that he was chased out. And so they were, the two announcers for the Hunger Games.

All across the city, thousands in the capital tuned into their almost paper thin television monitors, awaiting the latest announcement with their usual fevered glee.

"Today we are bringing you the announcement that the 32nd Hunger Games start in a month's time!" said Milo, all eagered face and smiles, his flamboyant hair-do bobbing in the screen.

Freddy, who was grinning awkwardly off-camera at someone, turned around and directed his wide grin now at the camera.

"This year is an important Hunger Games! We've had our first decade, the ones where all the glitches and things were sorted out! We had our second decade, the ones where we really got into tow, and also our Quarter Quell! To which our successive Hunger Games have had a hard time living up to thus far! And now we are into our third decade, many years before our next quarter Quell and missing the spark of just reaching 30 years. It's now or never! This Hunger Games is going to make or break it! It's the ringleader of them all! The breakthrough! It's now or never. The end of the world. Welcome, the 32nd Hunger Games!" Milo boomed at the camera.

"I was told it was always going to be there and that's the view we should give, make it or break it," muttered Freddy from the side.

"Shut up. No one listens to PR. I was just trying to dramatacise!" Milo elbowed Freddy which didn't do much for Freddy was also unbecomingly tall and only seemed annoyed as they bumped elbows. "Anyways! This is your annual announcement to say the Hunger Games is coming up shortly! Get ready for the tribute parade! The training scores! The interviews! The special arena we have planned! And who will win it all! Get your tickets in and your Hunger Games brain on! For you will vote for the winners! And we have the same wide range of sponsoring opportunities, fun for everyone!"

"Yay," said Freddy.

"Isn't it wonderful?" thrilled the capital men and women in their homes as they prepared for the 32nd annual hunger games, announcement, or premonition, in tow.

* * *

**Author's note: Thank you so much for the submissions guys! I'm so overwhelmed with gratitude and happiness that all you lovely people took the time and effort to make a tribute and submit so this syot could go ahead! When I first started it, I thought it wouldn't get that much submissions, and that even after a month or two not all spots would be filled so I would have to fill in the spaces with my own OCs, but I'm so grateful and overwhelmed that you guys submitted! It's made my day :) I hope to do your characters justice! **

**I got the last submission today, but I will need some time to organise/plan it so it's all smooth running once the games begin. So it might be a while before the first chapter appears, but thank you so much for the submissions once again, and I'll try to get a chapter up as early as possible! **

**Also, someone asked I wanted tribute creators to submit tokens and interview costumes later on. I think it's too late to submit tokens because I'm working on the reaping chapters now. If you happened to mention a token in your form I'll use that, but otherwise, I think it's too late to submit tokens. As for interview costumes, it's not a requirement (I can easily make up one to suit your character given the info) but if you want to, that's definitely welcome and I'll write it! :) **

**-WhymsicalBell**


	2. District 1 Reaping

The End of the World: 32nd Hunger Games SYOT

Chapter 1 - District 1 Reaping

**Edit: Important author's Note: I can't believe I forgot this, but there are some themes of gender identity, alcoholism, physical and emotional abuse, psychopathy, violent urges to kill as well as the usual action/gore you would expect from a Hunger Games fanfiction, just as a trigger warning in case these are sensitive topics for anyone. If they are it's perfectly alright to click away, I fully understand :) And for those who remain, I hope you enjoy the story and all that's explored :D **

* * *

**District One  
****Lazuli Scorpia**

I woke up early in the morning with the sun's rays slipping in through the blinds of my room, illuminating the covers and the sparse decorations. It was a maroon series of walls, a mix between pink and purple that my parents allowed, with some uniquely quaint items like a life-sized wire mannequin one could manually adjust to one's body shape and drape clothes on to see how it would look in real life, pink fluffy pillows with even lighter pink frills around the edges, and a full jewellery holder that was an odd shade of pink with branches of almost every inch of the about two feet long centre pole for jewellery to hang. A series of items my parents said were to help 'a girl look her best', help 'enrich a female to bring out their true beauty', that I said wasn't the most necessary purchase for every teenager out there (aka, something only pretentious people purchased) and that it didn't look nice with my room (aka, made my room look ugly). But looks like I won the fight and lost the war, so while I didn't have the deluxe sized version of a spinning ballerina jewellery box my parents wanted commissioned for me (my district does luxury goods, and my parents are quite well of, unfortunately for me, so they were able to do so), I did have a series of ill-fitting objects in what I tried to make a mostly black and purple room.

Maroon. The poor man's purple.

Suddenly, a series of bangs thudded at the door.

Bang. Bang. Bang. "Lazuli! Come out now!" That was my father, loud, bold and proud (and looking bald as well as bold by the day, I thought to myself) as his knocks shook up the room. He had a bit of a temper, though he usually held it under lock and key for the reaping, and I hoped he would hold it for a little while more longer.

"Coming daddy!" I called, then cringed. Daddy? Well, it was something he made me say.

"Lazuuuuuuuuli! I want you to examine my outfit! Oh, let mummy in and see what you're wearing!" thrilled my mother.

You wouldn't ordinarily expect a dstrict 1 upper middle class woman to be drunk. You wouldn't expect a lot of things, but here they were.

The door burst open as a somewhat short woman with an elaborate hair do and a pink and white striped dress waltzed in. In her hand she carried a glass and a magarita that was already half drunk. "Mummy, what are you doing?" I said, wincing at the glass. Horrible memories of glass smashing against the walls, high wailing voices and me running, escaping, wanting to get away came back, taking a knife with me as a comfort item. It was too early in the morning, I swore.

"A little always helps! It's the good woman's breakfast!" she said, tilting the glass up slightly more. I felt my blood run cold and the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. "Your dress is lovely by the way! Just like how a decent woman would adorn herself!" she cooned, looking at the pink and red dress that was tighter at the top with festive balloon sleeves, a bow or two around the edge, and a poofy red party dress style at the bottom that I was going to wear.

"Yeah, thanks," I muttered, even though it was SHE who picked it out, and it was SHE who got it commissioned.

I lived in the richer side of district 1. It was a luxury district geographically close to the capital, and we all knew how much the capital loved (become a sucker for) luxury items. With the short distance ease of transportation we were well looked after by the capital and had a roaring business, so most people in district 1 were well of. Not the...my mind flashed to the features of poor, grimy people in the outer districts, wearing smocks or holding grubby tools in their hands as they grovelled for scraps in the background of the reapings I saw. Not very glamorous, but all the same. Something in me darkened at the thought of having to compete against those savages. Those savages with a natural inborn advantage because they lived among the sewers and gutters all their lives. As grimy and unruly as they were, they would be competition for a hunger games.

Most of district 1 was fairly well of, but we were among some of the upper class. A couple of good business deals by my family and everything, and we had a nice house on a nice street, and plenty of money for my parents to blow on stupid, useless things.

"I love that mannequin! Have you been using it? It looks worn?" she said.

"It's fine, you should leave. I want privacy while I get dressed," I said softly, getting out of bed in my pajamas and heading towards the dress which was laid out on a chair by my desk.

"Of course honey, a good girl remembers her modesty!"

The moment the brown-haired bob and high heel clicks left the room I grabbed a knife from the drawer and threw it through the gap in between the wire.

It hit the mirror's edge. A small crack appeared. (Glass was strong in district 1, it was, heavily used in luxury items which was district 1's specialty afterall) An even uglier frown appeared across my lips and face.

That was my mother. That was my father. Typical, ordinary, law-abiding citizens of district 1 for the most part, who had the some old outdated gender norms wore was the best for everybody and draped over me, even if I didn't want it.

I sighed as I threw the knife back in the drawer, got on my reaping dress and stared at myself in disgust at the mirror.

My name was Lazuli Scorpia. Lazuli because it sounded like a jewel, but my mother didn't want to be 'improper and name a child after an inanimate object' and because it sounded pretty.

I didn't say it to my parents outright (they could be unpredictable at times. The horrid memories of shouting and banging doors and running away from home for a few moments with tears in my eyes, a knife in my hand and blood running through my veins and the lust for escape came rushing back. All too soon, all too well, I knew that feeling) but I preferred Laz thank you very much. Just Laz. Nothing more thanks. And I didn't want to be a girl.

I was never the 'Good Girl' they wanted me to be. I would never be the tall, beautiful, curvaceous amazon women with the nice hair, and good makeup, and sweeping dresses that would later marry a man and settle down into a lifetime of sewing, cooking and cleaning like a good girl should.

I tried being a 'Good Girl' once. I tried meeting those expectations, tried baking cupcakes every second week and adorning myself in them, but it had never clicked. But to be honest - sometimes, I didn't even feel like a girl at all. I didn't feel _female_. I didn't feel 'she', with the loud giggles and the thrilling voice, or 'her', with the long luscious hair I so desperately wanted to cut and the feminine silhouette. Staring back from the abyss of the person I was meant to be, was just blank nothingness and empty space. I just felt me, unequivocally _me_. They/them. The pronouns I wanted to go by. And you know what? It was alright to feel this way. It was absolutely fine to feel this way, and judgmental people who had nothing better to do with their time needed to be more understanding or never come back.

I stared at myself in the mirror again. I was very very short, not developed much. I was 14. I pulled a sweet smile on my face again and beamed at the reflection, sickly sweet. I could be sweet and bubbly (puke puke puke) and nice at times because it was what I was meant to be, but inwardly, I hated it. _I hated it. _I was just a sarcastic and snarky teen who hated being told I should be this or that, and just wanted to drop the pretentious formalities for all my life and be allowed a childhood. I could act younger than my age if I wanted to, but I was slightly more mature in some ways. I was very short, around 4'7, and somewhat frail looking. I had brown eyes, pale doll-like skin that was so pale it was almost transparent, and long, glossy, chestnut brown hair up to my waist I wanted to cut more than I wanted to breathe, but I wasn't able to. My skin was so pale it gave the unfortunate side effect that I was blushing all the time, but I supposed I could use it to my advantage in some cunning innocent girl act for the games.

With one last look I slipped on the dress and headed downstairs. Breakfast was a rushed affair.

The Reaping was taking place today. It was a huge thing in District 1. There were training centres all over the place. Training was one of the norms of the district, and every year, people were squabbling and rushing to volunteer. Usually the ones who trained well and thought they would win.

I had been going to a training centre ever since I was young. Unlike what some people believed about us (you wouldn't believe the things they said speculated in the capital), I actually liked the training centre.

It was a place where I found solace and solitude. It gave me something to do with my time that wasn't gendered. Here in district one, both girls and guys threw knives and shot arrows and broke wood. And sometimes, just sometimes, we might just let you live if you said 'girls can't throw', but not without teaching you a lesson. I was specifically good with knives.

The block of cool metal in my hand, an archer's eye at the target, zoning in on the tender spots. The sweet spot at the side of the neck where the jugular was, the place where the femoral artery was located on the upper thigh, the space in between one's ribs just underneath the sternum, where a soft sinking of the blade could end their life.

There was just something so exciting and exhilarating about shedding blood, perhaps the pent up rage from my childhood and being unable to express my true self came up. Something about dropping knives like bombs and slicing of flesh like apple skin. Something about the world flipping upside down, almost like a rollercoaster of emotions whenever I was 'in the zone', and the severe violent urges that manifested themselves. Boy was I ready for the games.

My father drove me to the district carpark, where he had a premium spot, being upper middle class and well-off. We got out, and headed to the great hall were the reaping took place.

I wasn't supposed to be reaped. I wasn't supposed to volunteer. Well, I was. Everyone in district 1 was. But not so soon. I was meant to grow taller, gain more muscles, gain more experience and a bigger and better chance before I volunteered. Most people who volunteered in the career districts weren't exceptionally young like I was.

But to be honest...the memories came rushing back. The fights, the yelling, the same dull sickening thud inside my chest, screaming, wanting to get away, away from it all. The safety of a knife in my hand, a bow and arrow, a mace expertly wielded, wanting to welcome the wash of blood and the drop in adrenaline that ebbed and flowed with violent urges. Just wanting to get away. Sometimes it scared me, how much violent urges one had. I used to think it was because my parents wanted me to be a 'Good Girl' all this time and it was what drove me over the edge, I used to think that was what pushed me to become like this, but sometimes, I wonder if I would always have had those urges even if they didn't throw these gender expectations on me. You try to excuse the darkness within for as long as you could, but sometimes, I just wondered if that was another part of me beneath the gender issues, and I was afraid it would only grow and become worse even after I started expressing myself as the true gender. Life was like that. You tried to excuse the darkness within, blaming it on this or that, blaming it on something else, but at the heart of it, you always wondered a little, if it was just the monsters within that was you - that was, regardless of anything else. But I put that out of mind, out of sight for the most part. Not today's problem.

I remembered the moments, at home with reality crashing down on me, wanting to get away from this place, wanting to avoid my parents and the reality they imposed on me, leaning my head against the cool kitchen tiles and releasing a held breath like I had the weight of the world's problems sitting on my chest. Hours, of watching tv, and the televised games, and thinking, just thinking to myself, that I probably stood a good chance with my skills and my urge to kill, and that it was an escape. A moment of freedom. A way out. I would volunteer, it was like an opportunity on a wishbone, presented on a shooting star. I could volunteer, risk my life, awaken the urges inside and maybe win the games, then getting the heck away from my parents with the newfound fame and money and getting a new life.

In district 1 it seemed being a victor bought you some kind of status. People treated you differently. People had respect for you that they didn't for anyone else. No one questioned you, not even your own parents to some extent. Win the games and I could get away. And if I don't...possibly dying in the games was better than staying under my parents thumb for another four years.

"Jacinta Bloom!" it was the escort's voice again. Darlene Raveloli, the tall, elegantly dressed, curvaceous figure that was district 1's escort. She had started escorting the games a few years ago and was a crowd favourite among the capital. Her catchphrase was, said sickening as she posed along the giant statue of a pearl in the middle of a clam in the district's centre, "I'm as pretty as the jewels of this district." "This district represents me as much as I represent them", and a whole heap of giggles. She was highly irritating.

"I volunteer!" I cried, putting my hands up.

A thousand cameras turned to me. The entirety of the district's eyes were on me, the blinking bulbs and orbs of the cameras bringing the footage straight to the capital's television screens focused on me. In the distance, I could see the quiet twitch of Darlene's neck as she swallowed slowly, and as the silence fell away and the rumours broke out, I graced the stage. There must've been something about me. Usually extremely young tributes from the career districts had certain powers or skills that no one knew about. It was always a crowd favourite among the capital when an unusual tribute from one of the powerful career districts volunteered, sometimes even more so after they found out what it was. I wasn't exceptionally trained, I wasn't the best at the academy, I was just a jaded 14 year old girl, fugitive from the identity I didn't want to be, and with a lust for zeal and penchant for killing throbbing beneath the surface. Oh, poor luck for whoever happened to run into me this year? Tough.

Usually, even if people wanted to volunteer, they always hesitated a little before doing so. We were career districts, not stupid. We knew the risks and had calculated the pros and cons before doing so. We knew what we were getting into, we know how much of a big and momentous event it was. Even if someone was younger, there was always a slight hesitation before they volunteered. Some years more than others. So it was odd that I volunteered so, so, quickly.

But, I thought, as I took the stage. I had inner demons swirling around that others didn't. I wanted to volunteer or die. And it was that lack of hesitation which allowed me to gain first place without anyone beating me.

A part of me was worried for the games. I thought I was adequately prepared but a part of me was worried I was overconfident even, but, I thought, I had trained in the training centre since I was young. I was strong and powerful in some ways, even though I wasn't the most prepared volunteer, and I was good with knives. I stood a chance. Even if I was going to die, and die with a bang I hopefully did, I thought as I finished walking across the stage. The capital cameras stared greedily at me and got their last shot. I beamed a sickening innocent sweet smile back. The escort collected her senses and bloomed into claps and laughter, the entire audience clapped. The orchestra started up again and my parents looked on me with pride from the audience. Volunteering was always a good thing in this district. Even though they wanted me to be feminine, they would still be happy I volunteered.

Only I wouldn't be feminine for the games. No, I was cutting my hair first thing in the capital if I could. And they wouldn't be able to do anything about it. Already, I could feel the chains coming of, freedom uplifting. The world seemed to spin as the escort asked me my name, and I yelled "Laz Scorpia" in a loud voice and the audience screamed and chanted it back. The first public recognition of my name.

In the distance a vein throbbed in my parents forehead. But I didn't care. They couldn't touch me now. Things had changed. Freedom was here.

* * *

**District One**  
**Hercules Shine**

Brown hair, piercing green eyes that held the slightest bit of fear like a rabbit seeing a wolf for the first time, the pathetic 115lb boy I was pounding stared at me as I grabbed my fist and stuffed it in his sides, blood raging through my veins. His eyes popped out, I shoved a foot underneath his leg. He swung his over leg around and attempted to hook my left leg into giving up. I leaned to the right and threw my body over as the world flipped among the sweat-laden musk, my sparring partner groaned under the weight of my body and gasped as I grabbed him around his left side from the back once I was done and flipped him to the ground.

Panting, we drew apart.

"Good one mate?" I said. My heart rate slowed, the blood stopped roaring in my ears. I got up and dusted myself of, flexing my biceps with glee and staring at them in satisfaction as I did so, whilst James Runner, best friend and the pretty much the pathetic career I've ever met, but still, best friend, got up with a wince.

"Yeah dude," he said, clutching at his side and still wheezing slightly.

"Not a smidgeon of my game huh?" I said back, beginning to grab my stuff before heading out.

"Yeah, not a millisecond off," he said, before grabbing his stuff and following, "You really do live up to your name don't you?"

"You wanna bet?" I asked, staring him down.

"I saw what happened to the other boys," James said, "But. Just remember, everyone has limits," he said truthfully.

"I wouldn't forget. It's one of the first things they tell us. I know this game and I know I stand a pretty good chance," I say as we leave the training centre and to our houses, where we would prepare for the reaping that was tomorrow.

"Mmm," he looks uncomfortable, but truthful, "You know. I don't like lying to you, and there's going to be plenty of people who tell you you're just brawn and no brains, as if you haven't been at the training centre and learnt all the philosophy and analysis for the games your whole life. There's going to be plenty of people who lie and say you're just a brawn machine to put you in a stereotypical box so they're happy. But I don't like lying and I reckon you actually have a pretty good chance at this mate," he says.

I beamed, "Just a month or so from my life as if training in intense mode. And then back to the district," I said.

"Yeah. It's just a month of what you can already do, and then I see you again after you volunteer tomorrow," his green eyes sought mine, wavering and flickering with a silent emotion I hadn't seen before as he stared at me, then momentarily and unnaturally hugged me for a few seconds, "I'll see you again right?" something in his eyes flickered. Then he punched me in the gut, it felt like it was on fire, I breathed out, unexpected and in shock momentarily, before the pain ebbed away. "Got you when you weren't looking," he said, back to normal now.

"Catch this," I said, giving him an undercut beneath the chin as we fought some more and tried to land unexpected punches whilst the other wasn't looking. We laughed and talked some more about this or that, before leaving and getting ready for tomorrow's reaping. Just like old times, but a part of me couldn't help feeling like a moment had passed where there was communication like nothing else but...

And that was yesterday. Today, an early morning, a hearty breakfast later, I stood surveying myself in the mirror. I was tall, at 6ft and counting, with a broad handsome, if not somewhat rough looking face, with curly blonde hair that was cut shortly and had some stray curls slightly curling around my forehead. I was pretty heavily built. Not only did the world look up to me, but people were sized like rag-dolls to me. I had lots of muscle and dark blue eyes.

I was into training, fighting and playing sports ever since I was young. The kick of a fresh brown football as I aimed it the goalpost, the inward calculations and rush of green grass beneath my feet as I ran to the next spot it was before I kicked it, the booting of a soccer ball from my toes as I played on the field. I loved, loved, sports and physical activity when I was young.

Which worked for me as my parents were among one of the rich rich, upper elite of the district. Not only did I start training early, and absolutely loved it there, but we were able to afford more sporting goods and even had our own private soccer field, though it was rather small and we were pressured to share it with neighbours and family friends from time to time, which meant I could enjoy my hobbies more.

It was lucky that volunteering and winning the games came so easily to me, and it seemed so fitting, because the path seemed clear cut and defined. I wanted to be a victor of the Hunger Games ever since I was young, and possibly open up my own training centre afterward, with perhaps a focus on sports, and physical activity for fun as well as just to win. Letting children play games of football or soccer in between and teaching them to enjoy sports for sports, and not just to kill and be brutal. Though that couldn't be missed either.

Here in district 1, recreational sports weren't looked down upon, especially if your parents were of the upper elite and wealthy sector like me, but they weren't looked up to either, and definitely weren't given even remotely the same emphasis as training for the games.

It was all so easy. Go to the games, size up the tributes, work out a strategy, put all 11 years of training to use, win, and then come back to my friends, girlfriend and group of loving friends and family and open up my own training centre. It was what I was meant to do, and the world that opened up afterward never seemed more clearer, nor calling now.

I had been training since I was 7, and this year I was 18, which I thought was the perfect time to volunteer. I would probably win the games judging from the statistics. I was physically well built, strong, trained, and more complex than just the stereotype of being a 'brawn but not a single brain cell' career tribute. I wanted to laugh before I bashed their faces in. Brawn over brain, as if we didn't also learn hunger games philosophies and strategies in the training centre. I'll show them.

As I arrived at the reaping I was surrounded by my friends. I was very popular at the academy and had been since I was younger. Lots of friends sent me to invites at their parties, my best friend James Runner and I talked about opening our own training centre afterward. James wasn't half bad a contender, he was pretty tough and strong himself, he just looked weak next to me. And my girlfriend Topaz Shimmer, was possibly the best and sweetest girl I'd ever met. I was lucky to have her, and I hoped to bring her pride and win the games for her after I volunteered. I wanted to come back to this distract. Wanted to see the same familiar district 1, the pearl in the clam statue in the middle, the training centre, everything and nothing. I wanted to breathe the fresh air on a football field with the title of 'victor' upon my name, I wanted to come back bringing pride and glory to the district, as it should be, fulfilling my dream since I was 7, I wanted to kiss and hug my girlfriend and tell her stories of the arena, I wanted to meet and talk to my friends again, I wanted to inspire young kids into doing sports for fun as well as training.

I wanted to win as much as I had a meaning to live for.

"Guess who's here?" came the voice of a tall, skinny boy with scraggly black hair, and a pale, handsome face. He was just as tall as me, just as trained, just as brutal, and would almost volunteer for the games if he could put on muscle more easily. He was one of my closest friends and one of the better people to practice and spar with, though I suspected there was always a bit of jealousy between us. We were just too similar, both being tall and well, he was pretty well built too, even if I could crush him to like an ant, and he had the same handsome, well-chiseled face as I was. Just a little too similar. I suspected he was jealous since he liked to use unusual putdowns on me and the like. It was unnecessary and often irritated me. My mood could shoot up from zero to ten in a seconds if he bothered me. Sometimes my friends would have to pull me of him if he went too far. But there he was, one of my uppermost friends in my inner circle and the one I sparred with a lot, and also someone whom I wondered 'whats his problem' sometimes, especially if he seemed too jealous, and made me blow up zero to ten real quick.

"You contesting me?" I said, raising an eyebrow at him.

"Hercules, not today..." muttered James, putting an arm around my middle. I could feel his limb slowly squeezing as he took several steps back and attempted to pull me away.

"Don't worry, it's not today. I still have the wounds from last week to show," Thomas said, pulling a mocking crying face and motioning to the place where the bruises were that I gave him a week before. We were always getting into little spars and the like - he had given me his fair share of bruises as well. It was just our friendship.

I relaxed somewhat. "Keep your cool while I'm in the games okay, you dumb rabbity shrew," I said back, eyeing him as he dropped his hands from his mocking crying face and put them back by his lanky sides. "Don't get too excited when I make a kill, I represent the district but not you."

He chortled along, just like old times. The escort was hushing the audience and getting ready for the drawing of the names. Everything was coming along nicely. Thomas' chortles died down. Good, today was a good day. I would banter with my friend and rival Thomas as usual, volunteer, get the usual ring of admirers and fangirls swooping over me, I had lots of friends in the training academy and at school because I was quite popular, and then go the capital and win the games like I was supposed to and come back.

When suddenly, Thomas said the next thing, "And just remember when I'm kissing your girlfriend behind your back, it's not you," he joked.

Silence. My heart dropped to my stomach, my fist itched and my anger level rose, the world seemed to shake and thunder in rising red before it blinked back a touch. James horrified face staring back at me. A stab of fear jostled at my heart.

"Hercules!" he gaped, his horrified expression never having left my face.

Thomas crouched on the ground, blood dripping from his mouth like a waterfall and pooling slowly on the ground as he clutched at his mouth from his hands.

"We said keep it under control!" said another one of my mates, shoving some tissues into Thomas' hands and telling him to put pressure on it, whilst helping him up off the ground so he would look dignified in the background should the cameras show me in the audience before I stepped up to get reaped. Luckily my punch had been silent so not many people knew.

"Sorry! Sorry! I hadn't meant to! Temper got the best of me!" I said, feeling that horror stab me again.

"It's okay. You're alright mate. Reaping makes everyone's spirits go up. You'll be fine. Just build a bridge, put it in the past, get over it," said James, thumping me on the back and turning me away from Thomas, who was behind me, and back to the stage.

I frowned in momentary confusion as a small, short girl with chestnut brown hair and a bubbly red dress stalked up on stage, looking a little too purposeful for someone that to have volunteered without a dark secret. No, this tribute was probably one to watch out for. I didn't catch her name though.

"Don't think about it. Think about the future. Move on, it doesn't matter anymore. Think about tomorrow mate, only things from now on matter," said my other friended.

I nodded as the escort drew the boy's name, "Damion Wilkes."

"I VOLUNTEER!" I bellowed.

The lights drew on, cameras flashed at me. A thousand oval faces turned to look at me from the sea of the audience. The music from the orchestra started again and grew to a merry cresendo, as everyone clapped and the escort beamed her best smile to welcome me to the stage.

"Wow, tall, well-built, you've the very tribute that stands a high chance of winning by our statistics!" she thrilled, beaming at me as I stepped on the stage.

"Yep," I said, staring her down.

"Well, you look like you were born for the Hunger Games! Tough competition everyone! What's your name?" she said.

"Hercules Shine," I told her.

"HERCULES SHINE!" she said jovially and the lights flashed as the cameras panned. A series of balloons were released from their side of the stage and doves from the side. The entire audience rose to give a standing ovation as the last of the lights cast their poignant spotlight on them.

I felt a feeling of rightfulness, like two puzzle pieces clicking as I saw the last of the districts' claps and the cheers of the audience in my vision. This was totally my thing and I was _going_ to win.

* * *

**Author's Note: Yes, it is so exciting to get the first chapter out! I hope I did a good job portraying all the tributes and that they lived up to their forms *sweats*. Some things to note:**

**1 - I'll write about the sponsoring system throughout the next couple of author's notes so it's not overwhelming, but just to be clear, participation for the reaping chapters won't matter in terms of sponsorship so you can relax there, but highly encourage you to review as I would still love to hear your thoughts!**

**2 - You're free to resubmit your tributes from this syot to others.**

**3 - I won't publish the names of the creators because I don't think there's a need for it, though I do have a list somewhere. I'll just say the tributes names and districts in their introduction chapter for the reaping.**

**4 - I can be busy sometimes so I may not always update. But I'm not taking this story down and I will finish it - eventually. Also, I didn't realise it but you're not allowed tributes via reviews. (I allowed guest reviews because if someone likes the hunger games fandom and has adequate knowledge to create a fun and interesting tribute and is excited and keen to submit to a syot, I can't see why not although I can understand if authors don't allow guest submissions because it is hard to verify one's identity which can make sorting out issues hard but anyways, I didn't realise it was not allowed (next syot PM only lol :P) so if this story gets taken down, know that it's most likely because of that. But I don't think ffnet really cares about stuff like this, so it should be fine! **

**5 - For chapters from the end of the reaping to the start of the hunger games I'll try to include even POVs of every single character, though I may feature the ones more prominent to the plot more. I'd try to give all tributes good coverage but the ones from the bloodbath onwards would be more focussed. **

**6 - Please please do remember that these are tributes others have worked hard on and put a lot of effort towards! Bashing or unkind things are not tolerated! If you don't like a tribute simply don't vote for it as one of your favourites when I open polls later on, but anything more I ask you keep to yourself. If I catch someone being mean I will disqualify them from sponsoring.**

**7 - Please no flames over the decisions or if you're tribute dies. I'm writing this for fun. If there's too much flames or drama I'll just stop the story.**

**Alright, now that that's been said, thank you for reading and hope you all enjoyed! If you have any questions or whatever let me know via review or PM and I'll try my best to get back to you! :) I'll post answers to questions in an author's note if I think other readers may want to know too! **

**Over and out, **

**WhymsicalBell**


	3. District 2 Reaping

The End of the World: 32nd Hunger Games SYOT:

Chapter 2 - District 2 Reaping

* * *

**District Two  
****Ruby Steel**

I didn't wake up to the morning. The morning woke up to me. I was out in the woods towards the outer edge of the district, gathering nuts, berries, mushrooms and the like when the sun rose.

I paused momentarily from my gathering, a woodland circle of shrubs and plants that I moved in a ring staring back at me from the ground, and squinted at the fierce glares of the sun. "In the spot where the sun rises, time will only reveal surprises," I murmured, feeling the ancient rites of magic and lore come back.

My name was Ruby Steel, I was 16 years old, and the sole bringing back of magic, witchcraft and lore. The enemies to this art didn't faze me, I thought, chopping up the supplies I had gathered with a small pocket knife and watching the pieces fall within the ring.

It wasn't until the age of 12 that I was introduced to superstitions, magic and belief by my parents. I had grown up in District two and attended the training academies and trained for the games just like any other kid, proving good at it, but passionless in learning how to kill twenty three other people and survive. My parents had whiled away my childhood saying that I needed to "focus on the games" "don't say anything that would distract her" but at the glorious age of 12, I finally asked them what was up, and they introduced me to the world of magic and witchcraft, and so I was, a kindred soul, who would one day resurrect the fine art from the dead and make everyone understand the importance of witchcraft and magic in our society.

The sun shone greater overhead. I had nearly finished the good luck potion I was making from my book. I glanced around, no one had seen me yet. Not that I minded people seeing, there was no shame in practicing ancient arts. It was just that for this particular potion, you weren't supposed to have eye witnesses around or it wouldn't work. I glanced around again.

The trees were empty. Check.

The background was sparse of people. Check.

The lone road leading to this trail had not a single visitor upon it. Check.

Heart hammering, fingers itching, I turned back to my work, feeling the very thudder of my heartbeat in my ears. I had been a very twitchy person since I was born, it wasn't anything I could help.

Then, I pulled out my knife, a bigger one, and stared down at the potion. The pink berries were nicely mashed and had juicy chunks of flesh taking up the majority of the space within the ring, catching the sun's gaze in all it's pretty flesh of pink and looking very substantial and magical. The nuts had been smashed and the tiny fibres clung to areas of the pink, the binding cofactor. And the mushrooms had been pulverised to a paste which was seeping into the pink and together, making a thick, greyish pink sludge that was the perfect consistency for this.

With one satisfied smirk and a sigh of relief, the knife broke the seal of my fingertips.

Dark, red, fresh blood welled up and dropped into the dewy pink sludge. Sweeping in a circle around the outside rim.

I smiled to myself as my finger throbbed.

"Double, double toil and trouble," I said, feeling the ancient magic and powers swirl up around me as I said those ancient words, "Fire burn and cauldron bubble." I didn't have a cauldron but this magic could be replicated elsewhere, and I already felt the growing of strength and good luck reside on me.

Then, a lark's cry pierced the sky. It reminded me of the fact my parents would soon be guessing where I was if they noticed I wasn't in the house anymore. I grinned at the potion for a split second more, before spitting in it, picking up my knives and wandering back to my home to prepare for the reaping.

"Ruby, I'm so glad to see you, I had a dream last night about you," said my mother when I entered the house. She was a tall, auburn haired woman with wisps that clung around her chin and hazel eyes. Chroma Steel was stringy in build and either very harassed and worried, or unusually happy, almost in a trance. "What was it?," I asked her, as I watched my parents prepare their breakfast. I don't eat in the morning because witchcraft was better done in the morning and on an empty stomach.

"Oh well now dear, I hope that means nothing bad," murmured my father from the side. Red Steel was about an inch or so taller than my mother. He had brown hair and dark eyes and often spoke in a timid voice. My mother often joked his spirit animal was a deer in the headlights.

"In my dream you were going to do something big," said my mother, staring at me, "I dreamed that my little girl was hiding all this time and one day she threw away her cloak and did something big. I can't remember what. And then I woke up."

My parents introduced me to superstitions and belief when I was 12. They said there was always a bit of luck in the world, you were never really alone, karma existed and had a funny way of paying you back, don't look on the bad side because you may never know what happens, and sometimes listening to old wives tales and superstitions made you feel better. Apparently our family came from a long line of fortune tellers who used to make a living reading people's fortunes before the war broke out. But afterwards, there wasn't much of a business for fortune reading, so we had to pick up masonry to survive and our family forged steel casings for the larger stone pieces. We changed our lastname to Steel ages ago when many of the citizens papers were lost in the war, and there was the opportunity to rebrand ourselves. Given the fact that the districts were split up into their specialities and many citizens had to take on jobs related to their speciality to survive and flourish in their district, a fair number of the members of Panem had changed their surnames to reflect their trade.

My parents didn't practice fortune telling anymore, but there was always an aura of belief and superstition in our house. It was in our blood, and it never quite faded.

It was just a few months ago when I was in the attic that I discovered an old old book on witchcraft and lore. Something which I felt was tinged with the wisdom of time, and almost like a calling to me. Since then it was like I fell down the rabbit hole, and the world became ever the more clearer. And all I knew was that I was a born witch to be, witchcraft was a real and dying art that was not practiced enough around the world, and my new purpose in life was to bring witchcraft to life and make great sacrifices in the name of witchcraft to bring back the dying art.

If anyone dared speak bad about witchcraft in front of me, they were getting cursed and voo'dooed til the death.

"You should get changed and ready for the reaping," said my father, cutting through my thoughts, "you don't want to be late on a day like this."

I nodded then went upstairs to my room. It was right below the attic so I often went up there for a bit of peace and quiet and then one day I found the book.

I headed to my room and dressed in a pitch dark black dress that flared out at the bottom, and black tights. I stared at myself in the mirror. It was the perfect outfit to showcase my inner self, but it was just missing something. And for the life of me, I couldn't find a pointed black hat anywhere around the attic or in the district's shops for some reason.

I sighed, then went to the corner of my room, crouched down, lifted the floorboard up with my fingers, picked up a gold key, and walked over to a matching large chest in the other side of my room.

I felt my heartbeat hammering, adrenline pumping, the hairs at the back of my neck raising. I grew more twitchier as I undid the lid, my ultimate speciality coming into play.

When the lid of the chest eased back and fell in place behind with a squeak of the hinges, I saw a collection of tiny, hand-sown dolls with button eyes and neutral faces.

Voodooism. Was my speciality.

People said they didn't understand voodooism. They made fun of it and said it was just a myth, a curse, an ancient relic of times long gone. But they didn't understand. Voodooism was an art, a science. It was something to be practiced, something life-changing, something powerful, something that could be harnessed if you had the tenacity and brain power for it. Voodooism was a calling. It was, my speciality.

I stared at the dolls some more. I didn't have enemies. So they were mostly of random people from the training academy or school. Sometimes I would do something good to them, sometimes I would do something bad to them, to test whether it worked. Like once I put a toy trophy in the hands of Hailey Woodwick, one of the girls in my grade. Then, when the teacher said to get into teams for dodge ball, since I knew beforehand that she was going to have a lucky day, I insisted on being in her team, and we won in a game of 17 players versus 14. Another time, I threw a pebble at one of the voodoo dolls and followed the corresponding guy around town for the entire day to observe the poor luck that would follow. Nothing happened the whole day, and I was growing increasingly edgy and panicked, so I picked up a stone and threw it at his head from behind after school. He winced and looked around but I was long gone then. I thought to myself that if I hadn't cursed him with the voodoo doll, I wouldn't have been watching him so much, and then I wouldn't have thrown the pebble at him if I hadn't cursed him, so therefore me cursing his doll had an actual effect on him, and I reasoned that therefore, voodooism worked.

I finished doing the final touches to my outfit and looked at myself in the mirror. I was a tall person at 5 ft 9" and rather thin at 110lbs, though I was always one of the stronger contenders at the academy, being athletic, decently strong and fast with good stamina. I got my mother's hair but in flaming red, and ever since I discovered witchcraft, I had picked out my true eye colour that allowed me to channel the magic better and wore red contacts. I had added some cobweb earrings to my ears and teased my hair slightly.

A shadow jumped. I twitched, I was always very twitchy since I was young. It was almost like an automatic impulse, nothing that I could really help. I scanned around for intruders, took a deep breath to attempt to calm myself down, and left my room to go to the reaping.

I arrived at the reaping a little earlier and talked to my friends while we were there. I used to have a whole heap of friends at the training centre, but then, around the time that I started the true art of witchcraft and voodooism, some of my friends mysteriously disappeared. I was perplexed, but I suppose, sometimes when life gifts you a greater gift, it removes some previous positives as well. Life was uncanny like that.

All my friends left had formed a cult that believed that witchcraft was a dying art that not many people looked into, and that there was something about believing in superstitions that was worth looking into. Though I was the primary ringleader of them all.

"The time is near," I murmured once the conversation died down and the reaping started.

"Are you going to volunteer?" whispered one of my fellow cult members, I had been one of the top contenders of the training centre after all.

"You're really going to carry out your master plan?" asked another friend, staring at me with piercing eyes.

"Yes, yes and yes, I'm going to let witchcraft guide me for the games on the capitol stage and let it channel itself through the medium that is me," I said firmly. I could feel my heart hammering again, the blood pounding through my ears, the world flickered and I swore I saw shadows at the edge of my vision, my twitchiness got better and worse at the same time. This, was life. This was my sole mission. The games was my weapon and the capitol was my audience, I was going to let witchcraft channel itself through me and wreck whatever havoc upon the world through me for the games.

When the escort called the name of the girl that was reaped, I was only ever, too eager to volunteer.

* * *

**District Two  
****Cecilio Contwurst**

I was asleep.

But then the sun drew it's tendrils across my face and my eyes opened to see the familiar manilla of my bedroom ceiling staring back at me with a snap. I curled my fingers in a fist, threw the covers of and threw a punch at the punching bag in my room. It snapped to the other end and shook on it's drawstrings for a little while more, before I walked to the bathroom to brush my teeth and get dressed.

I looked at my profile in the mirror.

Cecilio Contwurst. 18. I was 6ft 1", weighted 170s, with a head of light brown hair, brown eyes and a curl on one bang. I had broad shoulders, broad arms, I was very muscular, even if I did say so myself, and could probably snap someone's neck on the count of three with no regrets. I had won the knockout tournaments and was pretty much the single most hotly contested contender for the hunger games this year. I had gotten into 500 fights and won 496 of them.

I got dressed in an electric blue suit. Girls loved me in blue I was told, but I only had eyes for one girl - she was Donna Smith. The cute, brunette that could slash your neck and rip out your throat in a heartbeat but was charmingly sweat to those she adored. She was my baby.

With one last look in the full length mirror in my room, I headed outside for the first meal of the morning. My family were there.

The moment I entered the room however, my father, a tall brawny man of 47 with dark brown hair and matching brown eyes threw me a punch across the mouth, jabbed me upside the ribs and hooked one leg behind mine to throw me of balance. "What did I tell you? Constant vigiliance!"

I took the punch head on to lessen the impact on any particular area as I was told, flexed my core and hit him back harder across the back.

"You think you can match me?" I hollered, almost flipping him. I had the upper hand but he still had a strong grasp around my middle.

"You're still no match for me!" he bellowed, digging his knuckles in at my side and turning them around in a painful twisting notion.

My mother, Maria Contwurst, placed a hand across her pink lips and opened her mouth wide as her eyebrows shot up.

"Don't let me miss out on the action!" she thrilled, "This is great! Cecilio, are you giving him as good as you got? I really need to see all angles to determine if you're fighting correctly," she said, coming around and getting out a polaroid camera, "Say cheese! This is going on the family mantelpiece!"

Both my father and I straightened up. We placed our arms around each other and glowered in the camera as she snapped a photo. "Atta boy! That's our son!" thrilled my mother, sighing as it printed of, "you were arguably the best at the training centre. And one of the best the district's ever seen! My friend was telling me the coach said you were like a killing machine! A born natural. 500 fights and only lost 4 of them! What are your thoughts on the games?" she thrilled.

Meanwhile, my brother Slicer Contwurst watched on with a sickened grimace. We were both trained for the games. Trained to kill, brutality was in our blood and our veins, given the fact that our entire family prioritised self-defence and fitness above all else and raised us to be incredibly tough. He was a good contender too, but an unexpected acl injury dashed his chances at the games in his last year, where he would be at his prime. And so he carried around an air of bitterness ever since. The underdog who never even got a chance.

"I told you," I said quietly, staring at the row of photos on the mantelpiece above the faux fireplace. There was my girlfriend Donna and I, at last year's christmas party. Her arm wrapped around me, a soft pink feather boa adorned around her neck and the sweetest smile at the camera. There was me with my groupie, a bunch of top students at the academy who stood a high chance of winning the games and hung out every nown and then at things like beach bonfires, by the swimming hole, at the movies, outside of training and school. There was also a snapshot of one of the previous victors of the game.

He had been tall, strong and powerful when he won. Very muscular, very well trained, very refined. He captured the hearts of the capital women and smashed those of the arena tributes. He was my hero and I wanted to win the games like he did. I wanted to come back. I wanted to go to the games and face tough opponents and fight people I've never thought before, and then come back to district 2, which was my home, my resting place.

"I'm volunteering because I want to fight stronger people. Everyone here is too easy," I said, crossing my arms.

Slicer rolled his eyes but I only just smirked at him. He so badly wants to fight me to prove his dominance but my parents would send him to his grave if he dared do serious damage before the games, and his opportunity had come and gone. He was truly pathetic.

"Let's have something to eat and go to the car soon!" said my mother, watching the two of us. Slicer and I would fight all the times as kids, sometimes not so friendily, so she was growing increasingly worried of late that he would rip out my guts out of jealousy if the reaping didn't come soon enough and I was away from him. I swore though, the moment I got out of that arena I would punt that kid to the ground like no other. I wouldn't even think of it and I woud give him a beating to put him in his place.

He used to be taller than me growing up. But I overtook him by two inches, and I think he's been salty since.

"Alright. Fine," Slicer grunted. We had a hearty breakfast of mum's sausages, eggs, four slices of richly buttered toast for me, oatmeal. It was all a good spread, before we left to drive to the town hall.

"You drove me to my reaping! You're not driving yourself to your own reaping either," said Slicer once we reached the car.

"You didn't volunteer little guy. Move over and let me drive."

"No. Get driven," he hissed.

"Oi? You want to pick an argument with me? Huh? You want to pick a fight," I said customarily, rolling up my sleeves.

"Boys!" said my mother, "Slicer!"

"Sorry ma..." he finally said as she shot him a deathly look.

I got in the front. "You know you were stupid to tear your ACL before your game because you didn't listen to me about the stretches right?" I said as I started up the car and took us out of the driveway.

"I listened to my coaches. Who said "maybe" I should do those," he glowered back, sighing as he stared out the window and avoided eye contact.

"Maybe means half yes, half no. And I was the one telling you yes. Like I said-"

"Just drop it okay? Can you stop bringing it up?"

"You made a stupid decision and you deserve to hear all of it," I hollered back at him, then grinned and stuck out my lip as he stared even more defeatedly out the door. I loved a good argument. It made me feel complete.

"Whatever," he said.

The drive lapsed into silence as we neared the city.

"Did you hear about that Ruby girl?" said my brother. The thing was. Even though we were competitive, and even though we were bitter. We were forthright and honest with each other. We fought an honest fight and wanted to show each other we were better than each other in a forthright, fair and honest fight. We didn't do dirty, and we didn't really do anything behind each other's back either. For the most part, he supported me and I him and we would share important information to help us win. I did help him prepare for his games - to which he didn't listen by avoiding the half of the reasoning which said to DO THOSE EXERCISES which leaded to him tearing his ACL in vigorous training that ramped up before his games and ultimately, not being allowed to volunteer.

"Mm, what about that Ruby girl," I said. I usually didn't take notice of anybody. And by sheer utter luck the girls of my age were a rather weak bunch this year group, so I hadn't taken notice of any females from my times at the academy or during school, which were sectioned of by age group for the most part.

"She's a nutter from the 16 year old age group," said Slicer, informing me of the details, "Used to be good and top of her game. Probably still is. One of the best contenders for Two."

"Mm," I said, not taking my eyes of the road.

"But picked up a strong obsession with witchcraft and voodooism a few months ago. Crazy chick. Cut herself for it and said she would channel witchcraft through her for the games and would kill anyone who dare opposes it," he supplied, "I hear she's going to volunteer and use the games as a bigger stage to greater spread her message."

"Thanks for telling me, bro," I said as I pulled into the carpark, "really. She sounds like an absolute nutter. But if she's had the training of district two for her entire life. There's no doubt she can pack a lot of damage. I won't say anything to err, get on her bad side," I said, making a mental note to do the smart thing and not speak anything against witchcraft or voodooism while I was with her. I wouldn't praise it either, but I wasn't going to be the fool that died a premature death at the hands of my district partner over something like this.

"Yeah - don't," he said, as we began to undo our seatbelts.

"I don't think," I said, "my strategy is to. No...thanks for warning me beforehand. I know now not to get in an argument with her. I wouldn't kill her either. It's not going to look good in front of the capital audience if one district member kills another, especially so early. I'll just be silent and wait until someone else says something bad about witchcraft and voodooism and shes onto them," I said.

"And that's not an unusual thing to say at all," said Slicer with a raise of his eyebrows.

We got out and headed to the town hall. I met my best friend Eric Frizz, a shorter guy packed with muscles, with dark brown hair and handsome hazel eyes who was the second best fighter of my year group. "I'm going to miss you mate," Eric was straight to the point and unusually forthright with his emotions for a guy. "Lots of good memories together. We have to continue the bunch," he said, patting me on the back.

I met him on the first day of the first grade where I fought him for his sandwich. I was allergic to peanut butter so I wouldn't have been able to eat it anyway. Eric then said I was the biggest bully he'd met and wrestled me back, and put up quite a fight, even though I had won. And that was the start of my many victories. Then he revealed that he was allergic to peanut butter but his mother forgot on the first day of school and he wouldn't have been able to eat it anyway, and we bonded over our allergy and the bro code of always fighting for your honour. And then we were inseparable buddies.

He gave me a hug. Though it was more like a huddle. "Gonna miss you man. You're my second in command-"

I chortled, but not as light-heartedly as I thought I would, "You're _my_ second in command-"

"the other half to my sandwich. Come back," he said, breaking away, "there's a spot waiting for you when you come back. You'll be the victor you always idolised and be able to train future tributes and make new champions out of the lot, just like what you've always wanted to do."

"I know," I said gruffly. Thinking of ring-matches, fights, much like a pitbull fight but with real people, that I was so accustomed to all my life and wanted to extend the legacy through creating new tributes just like me. Bought up with the atmosphere of winning the games at no cost, just like at my house. It was a vision I wanted to achieve come the end of the games.

Over in the distance, Donna glanced over and waved at me, smiling her pretty smile. I nodded back. I was going to win this. For me. For her. For us.

"I VOLUNTEER," cried the voice. I wasn't surprised much when the crowd gasped as a girl that I had never noticed before but seemed a little bit familiar now, walked up to the stage. Perhaps I had seen her fighting over tributes in the higher stakes fights around? Doesn't matter. Even if it weren't for the added complexity of her psychoness she would have never been competition for me anyway. No, I always thought my biggest competition would be a tall, well-built guy like myself. I clenched my teeth together as I tried to imagine. A part of me was all excited at the idea of finally getting to fight tougher competitors. A good fight before one bites the dust. One has to lose for the other to win.

"Frederick Sprig," thrilled the voice of the escort.

"I VOLUNTEER," I screamed. Faces looked up, mouths open in shock and admiration, but a good type of admiration, as I made my way up to the top. A chorus of murmurs and well wishing whispers broke out. I arrived on stage.

Ruby Steel, the girl who volunteered, looked a little out of it as she stood there on the stage.

If you piss her of, she's going to try to kill you and you'll end up having to kill her. Waste of time and loses capital audience, I thought.

If you kill her, you'll end up losing the capital audience, I thought again, making a mental note if the last one weren't strong enough not to make too much trouble for myself early.

You know how she is. You'll just have to ignore this nutjob for the duration of the games and wait til she's picked of before you fight against your real opponents.

"You're tough. I'm shook," said the district escort after asking me my name and I told her, stepping back a little and dropping her mouth at me. The cameras focused more intensely on us. I would practically feel a laugh track going on.

"I've gotten into 500 fights and won 496 of them," I told her. There were winces and groans in the audience as the 523 or so other people groaned or remembered their bruises. Yes, I had won against two or three people at a time before. It seemed to further the impression they would get at the capital, I thought, as I noticed the cameras zooming in to grab a more intense shot of my profile.

"And presenting to you from District 2 - RUBY STEEL AND CECILIO CONTWURST. FOR YOUR ANNUAL 32ND HUNGER GAMES. THE START AND END OF IT ALL." she screamed.

Confetti and streamers rained from the air. The lights then darkened before the escort would usher us to our finishing rooms where we would talk to our families before the games began, but the dark didn't scare me. I was the hunter and not the hunted.

* * *

**Author's Note: Just a few things about how sponsorship's gonna work: PLEASE READ #1-#4. ITS IMPORTANT INFO ON SPONSORING.**

**#1 - There'll be options in specific chapters (I'll make it clear if it's that chapter) where you can vote for your x number of favourite tributes, or rank your tributes, or assign them likability out of 10, or any other form of ranking. You'll also have options to vote for your least favourite, or select tributes to sponsor etc. The outcome is that whoever's more favoured stays alive/gets a sponsor gift, or just fares well in the arena the next day. What they get would depend on each chapter but whichever tribute's more favoured gets more of an advantage. **

**#2 - I've decided NOT to have any sort of point/tally system, or any favourite/follow/review - x points system. The only thing which counts #1. It's because when I started writing a syot, I wanted to try a wide range of perspectives and characters, and just bring them to life and write a story that flowed. I hoped that they would be interesting to readers as well and they could have their input from #1, and whatever it is would influence the outcome of the story. I feel that if you read and comment, it's enough already. And I wouldn't want anything more, also because you need a lot of maths/statistics to have any sort of tally/system, as well as a a fair amount of people sponsoring for it to really work, and I don't feel as if I have the numbers/interest for it (this is my first syot afterall so it's understandable...) I really hink it's efficient to have all that for this small and humble story. So I'm just happy with comments :D**

**BUT, I will say that if there's any of #1, I require AT LEAST 5 responses otherwise if the numbers are too small it's going to skew the outcome too much. Oh and there's no #1 until the reaping chapters are over.**

**#3 - There's no sponsor questions/thoughts on every single tribute/like/dislike/chart etc that I _require_. But, I heavily encourage you to give your opinions on the tributes if you want to because it's a syot and it's meant to be interactive, and I want to read your responses too. If you have a favourite format you like to use, feel free to do! Whatever's easiest for you to get your thoughts rolling. ****Sometimes I may ask questions in the AN, but it's less because I have to, and more because I'm genuinely curious as to what you think about those questions for a particular chapter. You don't have to answer, but I would highly appreciate it if you did.**

**#4 - The outcome of the story is entirely determined by the readers. I'm mostly writing this because I want to try a wide range of perspectives and bring it to life and write the characters the best way I can. I'm not writing this to "really get into it and have a favourite myself that I want to make them win", though I'll probably have tributes I naturally like more as I'm writing them. (Maybe I'll say what they are in an author q&a at the end, with q's like "which tribute did you want to win" "which tribute did u think was going to win at the beginning" XD) But which tribute dies/makes it alive/gets sponsored etc, is largely going to be determined through #1 from you guys. **

**I will step in sometimes but ONLY for the logistics of it. e.g. The final 3 tributes can't all belong to the same person, so for example, if it came down to 2 tributes submitted by creator A and 1 by creator B, and let's say the polls showed creator B's tribute was less popular. Because I can't have the final tributes come from the same person I'm going to have to kill of a tribute from A. That's the only reason I'll step in and override the #1 pretty much, but otherwise it's all yours. I hope it's clear. Oh and NOTHING is pre-determined until the very last chapter. I wouldn't even know who's going to win until the last chapter xD**

**I think that's all the information on sponsoring. If you have any questions or confusions please don't hesitate to ask! **

**Sorry for the already long author's note. You deserve a virtue cookie for making it through this far (::) Some things about this chapter: **

**#1 - I didn't make Ruby and Cecilio enemies because I thought it would be too boring if two people from the same district took each other down practically the moment the games began. I also think it'll be more interesting to have Ruby antagonise someone else. I'll ask again at the end of the reaping chapters once the other tributes have been introduced which tribute(s) you want to see her have conflict with :P**

**#2 - Just some questions I'm curious about: **

**Q1. Who do you think is going to last the longest out of all 4 of the tributes introduced so far? If you had to guess an order that they died in, what would it be? (I don't even know the answer myself, but I'm still curious what your impressions of them are so far) **

**Q2. If in a fight between Hercules and Cecilio, who do you think is going to win? **

**Q3. Who do you like more? I didn't notice when receiving the tribute submissions but they're actually pretty similar (which is good, similarity builds conflict lol) though from the forms I'm also getting the impression they're quite different people from each other, and if it's not obvious to you guys yet, it will be as the story goes on, but I'm curious whether you guys feel there's a difference between them right now and which one do you like more?**

**#3 **\- **Some question's that would help me with this: **

**Q1. What do you think of the chapter lengths so far? Do you want shorter or longer? (Personally they're a bit tiring to write though I could happily stick with this length, so if you want them shorter, I'm all for it!) **

**Q2. Do you have a preferred updating frequency for this story? Twice a week? Once a week? Once every two weeks? Let me know so I'll be able to match it with my schedule the best!**

**That's it! Thanks so much for reading so far (so sorry for the looooong author's note! You deserve a batch of virtual cookies!) and I'll leave you to review (or not, if you would prefer not to :P) in peace for now! :P **

**Oh and to the Guest tribute creator (Rider!): It's okay, it's not your fault! In fact, it's totally mine for not reading the rules closely! That's so cute! But it's pretty much Rue's from the Hunger Games, so I'm going to have to ask you to change the design/style of the dress. If you have a new one you want her to wear let me know, but if you don't have anything else in mind I can make one up for her! Thanks for reviewing :) **

**Over and out,**

**-WhymsicalBell **


	4. District 3 Reaping

The End of the World: 32nd Hunger Games SYOT:

Chapter 3 - District 3 Reaping

* * *

**District Three  
Kilo Watt**

I counted the seconds of the alarm block by my bedroom table before it went of. Three. Two. One.

The familiar drnnng of the metal precipice on metal woke me out of my stupor. Even though I had already been awake for quite some time before my alarm was fated to go of for the day.

Twenty-seven minutes, thirty-two seconds exact. If I was going by the time my eyes first found the blurry form of the second and hour hands and I calculated the time when I first gained consciousness upon waking up.

It was the morning of the Reaping, a horrible day in the life of an average District Three person. I didn't need to explain what the Games were, if you had any knowledge of it you would already know.

With a sigh I grabbed my glasses of their spot at the bedside table and pushed them on. The world blinked back into focus once more.

I was usually awake before my alarm clock, not having much to do and spending most of my time either in school, in the factories, or helping my parents with mundane tasks at home, there wasn't a whole lot of activity in my life, so I wasn't tired much. I often woke before I was supposed to, and for a long time, worked out staring at the quiet ticks of the clock before it struck the right time was both calming and entertaining enough for the early morning. Often I thought of this or that, or future inventions I hoped to make, or gadgets I wanted to build during that time. It was very relaxing.

I usually preferred the world in sharp focus, finding my vision problems just annoying and inconvenient at worst, unnoticable at best, but that bit of time to myself in the morning was the only time where I was perhaps content looking at the clock hands, focussing on their blurry form through the void and just dreaming of thoughts coming to life and wondering about future inventions, what I'm going to do for the day, this or that, before it was time to face the world.

I went outside to do the laundry, scrub the pots and make breakfast before serving it to my parents. Just because it was Reaping day, was no excuse to not do the necessary chores and become lazy, my mother always said.

I walked down the steps to the shared laundry between the members of the unit before picking my family's damp clothes from the neighbour's. We had elevators here, being the district that looked after electronics, it was no problem for any one of us to install an elevator. In fact, pick a random adult from the population to install an elevator for you, and chances are they could do it. Except some buildings didn't have them because they were too small and squat for them, some had them but we didn't get a lot of oil or fuel from the capitol to grease them, or even make them safe, so a lot of the times, residents just used the stairs. The capitol was cruel that way. They didn't allow trading between districts, bought all the specialities from each district and then sold them to the other districts at a higher price. We didn't get any materials directly from the other districts, we got the from the capitol. They didn't officially say it was at a more expensive rate, but going by the average price of things in our district and the amount they paid us, all the adults sussed out it must be.

So those resources and the elevators weren't patched up often, unless, it was an important day or something, like the one time an escort left her hat in the lobby of a building and since District Three was closer to the capitol than the others, the capitol for some reason decided to send her back a week after the Reaping to fetch it. Apparently the building residents were up the entire night oiling and fixing up the lifts in case she wanted to take them.

Again, a lot of things would work, theoretically, but they didn't, practically, unless a bigger purpose (like impressing the capitol) was needed. You didn't want to not impress the capitol though, that was dangerous. Or at least, give the impression you didn't want to impress the capitol. Doing any action that could not be interpreted as complimentary at best, but somehow, in a way that the capitol residents didn't catch onto that and missed the offence, now that, was an art form.

And one rarely done here. Though there were the stories once in half a decade or so. Most people preferred to keep their nose to the grindstone and themselves to themselves in this district. It was a very live-by-the-paycheck, hand-to-mouth existence, although we weren't technically starving like some of the outer districts, that most people were just too tired and preferred to keep to their own business.

I went to the communal area to hang out the clothes. They were damp now, and would _still_ be damp by the time I got back, but I suppose that degree of difference was enough to stop one from catching scarlet fever and dying from wearing it so I can't complain there.

The rickety floorboards creaked as I walked back up, the sun had started coming out from the clouds in the distance and the meagre amount that could be visible through the overcrowded buildings of District Three fell through. It was a watery soup of gloom, ashen particles of the pollution from the factories - everything was a shade of grey here - and the occasional dappled sunlight that became my view as I scrubbed in front of the kitchen window. Once in a year, we properly scrubbed the pots and kitchen utensils as well as just washing them after use. And as my mother put it, 'everyday chores are necessary for survival. There's no reason not to do them, just because it's Reaping day. In fact, all the more for it on Reaping day'.

The washing up was done, I cooked a meal of porriage, cabbage and bits of bacon for the breakfast. We had meat about two or three times a week. It wasn't a lot but it was more than the other districts from what I heard. Since District Three was close to the capitol and they relied heavily on technology, we weren't in poverty by any means. Though due to the periodic scamming and ripping us of, and the great demands of consumption that they had which caused a perpetual notion of overwork, we definitely weren't rich. Still, no one actually physically died of hunger or starvation or anything, and for the most part, it was just a dull and monotonous existence.

My parents expected a lot from me. They had to work everyday in the factories, and they weren't at the bottom of the tantem pole in that they actually had fairly taxing and substantial work to do, so it was a lot of energy and time spent at work. Therefore, they expected me to manage the upkeep of the household when they weren't around, especially as I didn't have full-time factory work, and do the cleaning, cooking, laundry, make sure a warm meal was waiting for them if they were home, dusting. A million things but I still didn't meet their expectations.

My parents emerged from their rooms now, usually I woke before them.

"Oh good. You remembered to cook the meal," said my mother as she poked at the put together meal in the bowl and I helped myself to a serving, having already filled my parents bowls. "You bacon's stuck to the cabbage. You didn't grease the pan enough."

"Tera, the Ricketor's wanted us to confirm whether we could make it to the meeting tomorrow. Have you got the right number?" said my dad.

"Oh yes. Mega, do you have the blueprints? We need to also get Alice and Palmer to confirm them," then her gaze caught mine, "go to your room to eat. Get changed and remember to wash up afterwards Kilo."

I nodded meekly as I left.

My parents were of average height, my dad had ashen black hair and my mother blonde. I looked like them, being of average height, and average weight, with shoulder length blonde hair, uncatching brown eyes and black glasses. Both my parents also had glasses. My mother's was a prettier sort of blonde, surprisingly light for someone of district Three. Mine was a dirtier blonde. I had stared carefully at it and tried to estimate the RGB values of the shade before. It was definitely blonde underneath, just had ashen brown highlights that made it look dirty blonde. I used to joke that since I was born in a time where the district was more polluted than when my mother was young, mine was a dirtier blonde due to the ashen particles attaching themselves to my younger scalp. My mother would retort that it was such a disappointment I never learned to wash my hair properly.

I looked unseeming and unbecoming. Just average I suppose. Staring at myself in the mirror. I was 14 years old and looked neither here nor there, neither older nor younger, not fierce, not the sort of innocent, shivering, cute sort of shy either. I looked 14 and was average all around. It could be worse I supposed. I wore a blue dress that wasn't too faded with an overlay of lace flowers over it. It was a pretty decent thing to wear for the Reaping, I thought. Again, you didn't want to give the impression you didn't want to impress the capitol.

After the meal and washing up, I flew back to my room and stared at the assortment of odd gadgets and bits and bobs around. I had taken them apart and rebuilt them, put together some designs of my own from bits and pieces lying around.

It was a lie to say that everyone in District Three was interested in electronics. Yes, all the jobs in District Three were centred around electronics and factory work, with the lower classed members doing menial labour in manufacturing and the better minds engineering the new innovations and designs behind things. Though I heard the capitol had strict sanctions and they had to approve all the plans for new technologies and inventions before they could be manufactured. No one spoke of it in real life, but we all knew it was so they could keep an eye on us and make sure we weren't forming any 'Bring Down the Capitol' inventions in essence.

Not everyone liked electronics. At most, people were just decent enough at it because you needed it to survive. Most made peace with the fact that they were going to basically be involved somewhere along the process of either thinking up electronics to build, building electronics, or unbuilding other electronics to use those parts in building up more electronics, for their entire life. As they said, it was better to swallow it with a happier attitude and make peace with it, rather than be bitter all your life. Most people if they didn't like electronics, preferred not to focus too much on that for it was better to just be happy than be sad over something that they couldn't changed.

Not everyone liked electronics. I'd say the majority didn't. The majority were good and capable and could probably fix your interior lights if need be, but most people had other hobbies or interests. Though there were a few people occasionally, whose hobbies matched and they liked the general speciality of the district.

I was one of those people.

I had always been a bit ofa social vampire since I was a kid. Electronics and gadgets captured my interest in a way that people didn't. They were logical and interesting, they were easily pliable into whatever you wanted them to be so long as you had the correct formula, they were also new and exciting. Oh to create things! A golden hummingbird whose wings fluttered at such high frequency, you couldn't even see their movement up and down. Just saw a bird in a stationary position all throughout it's flight. Cars that had alternate wheels that could track their way up walls. A screwdriver that doubled up as a torch as well. Which could be incredibly useful for a lot of applications. A whole heap of things to be made.

My room was full of electronics that I put together. There wasn't a lot of parts so some of it was old electronics my family had and were about to throw away that I 'stole' and kept for experimenting, some of it was bits and pieces found on the street, after the bits and pieces that could be used for building electronics were already taken by people looking to sell them to factories for profit (there was always a portion of every junk that was profitable. Those were the junk left after the junk that could be sold were sold). Some of them so irregular or odd that I couldn't possibly think up a use for them when I first saw them, but I kept the in my room all these years, and over time, sometimes two pieces could come together to make a whole that was somewhat useful.

My life was so easy in a way. Tough out several more years of keeping up to expectations in this house, do reasonably well in the end of schooling examinations, go get a job and then become an inventor in my spare time and design blueprints and prototypes and works. I could put through a patent and see if anything was approved, and once the first patent was let through, the others should come through easily. It felt like my life could begin once I turned 18 and started coming up with my own inventions to patent.

The Reapings were just an unfortunate droning noise in the background that played every year. With the sizable population and the statistical odds of being picked, it wasn't a real concern for me. Most people went through their entire lives never having anything to do with it. But still, you could never entirely forget it, and it was still something uncomfortable.

I just got to go to this Reaping. Smile, make it through, and that's another year gone, another occasion of formalities gone. Then I could go back to inventing. My mind drifted of to this pen that could pack your schoolbag for you while you studied based on sending and receiving radio waves depending on the minute direction that you pointed it whilst you wrote. I had that one for several weeks now, and it was halfway there. I wa always working on something.

"Kilo! Kilo! Don't make us call you again! It's time to leave," came my mother's voice.

"Coming mother!" I hollered back, before hastily packing up my stuff and leaving. I especially disliked the Reaping because there were people there. People were boring. It wasn't that I didn't get them. I could hold up a conversation and be polite and cordial. It was just that I found them pointless and boring, I found their idle chatter and talk meaningless and banal. There was no interest, no want, to get to know people more. So I existed as mostly a social vampire. Masquerading under the guise of politeness and small talk, but not forming any deeper bonds, quiet, mostly keeping myself to myself. It was a good existence. And I hated having to smile and wave and wish people from my grade luck for the Reapings every year.

With a sigh, I took one last look at my home, the pots, pans, and kitchen utensils that I helped clean this morning, and turned to follow my parents to the car.

District Three was geographically one of the smallest districts. Though it's population wasn't too out of line from the other districts. So we were mostly cramped and overcrowded. The capitol had excessive demands for technology and electronics so often factories were built up to the sky, and none of them very properly built. They weren't actually dangerous or risky, just a tad too overcrowded, ugly. The entire district was dull and ugly, and grey, buildings conjoined to each other in a mess of expansions. It was knobbly and scabby and sunlight rarely got down the canopy of tiles and walkways and layers of the factory. So there was a bit of gloom. The good thing wsa that this probably kept out the majority of the pollution. But nonetheless, I swore everything seemed to be tinged in a layer of grey.

The Reaping Hall was underground, possibly because it was one of the only places where pollution didn't get in. It did look good. The outside world seemed muted in comparison, and the hall and everything was properly done and looked very neat. On camera I supposed people had little idea of what the District was like. We weren't as poor and starving as some of the outer districts, and as some people mistakenly believed, but we weren't as rich as the other three notorious districts we were wedged in between. Though we were also quite favoured by the capitol and important because of their heavy reliance on technology and electronics so we never felt ashamed being before and after the other three career districts. We held our ground in our quiet way.

It was another ordinary day. Another ordinary year. I almost yawned. Just have to make it through this Reaping and then I could go home, stretch my legs, grab a bite to eat, work on the calculations when...

"Kilo. Watt."

My eyes snapped open wide. The male escort (not all escorts were female by the way) scanned the audience with his prompt eyes. I felt my heartrate skyrocket.

"Kilo. Watt," his voice was unforgiving and punctual. Just another day of formalities for him. My heartrate skyrocketed even more and I felt my arms and legs turn shaky.

"What-" I spluttered out quietly, unable to believe my luck but realising what had happened.

The cameras found me. I straightened up, closed my mouth, and then focused on walking to the stage, letting my hair hang low in front of my eyes and covering my face until I reached the stage and looked up, letting the formalities take place and the cameras roll forth as they captured the newest player.

I was reaped in a district where hardly anyone volunteers.

That threw a wrench in my plans.

* * *

**District Three  
****Galaxy Astro**

"Galaxy! Galaxy! Help me with this thing! The b sharp has gone flat again!"

"Are you free? Someone wants to talk to you."

The siren song of a violin playing in the background stopped abruptly as the familiarly shaped piece of wood zipped through the air towards me. I hastily reached out and caught it before it hit the ground. My brother Universe probably wanted me to tune it for him again.

My sister Quantum meanwhile, hung out from her room where she spent most of her time, phone in one hand and mouth open with the slightest hint of gum peeking out as she stared.

My parents were out and it was my duty to start cooking dinner, my friends and I were planning a sleepover to coincide with the date of a comet so we could watch it go by, and the world was in a general sort of cacophony as I stood there, middle of the room on a Reaping morning. Districts 1, 2 and 4 were the ones where everyone was overexcited for the games and volunteered like no tomorrow. The outer districts were the ones where poor conditions and poverty made everyone a little too paranoid that the Reaping was heavily feared and a source of tension. In District 3 most people were practical about it and recognised that the statistic likelihood of your name being drawn was highly unlikely, so many people didn't concern themselves with doing anything too out of the ordinary on the day of the Reaping. Which was why my day was a bit of a blend of all things right at the moment.

"Sure thing, but you have to eat your breakfast first," I said, ruffling the hair of my little brother as I tuned his instrument again. I loved music, had picked up the beats, and the spirals of sheet music and harmonies and rifts in the world of song ever since I was a little boy. It was one of my most favourite pastimes, and I was told I was rather good at it, though I wasn't sure I was good enough to be a songwriter, which was what I wanted to be when I was older, but apparently I was "inspirational" enough, that my younger brother, 12, attempted to get into music and messed around on the family violin a lot.

He wasn't really that great at it. He should pick his own interests and pathways in life that matched with his talents, I thought, instead of copying me, but I tuned it all the same. There's no harm in getting it out of his system.

"Yaay," he said. He was happy and merry for the most part. We got along like no tomorrow. He went to eat the breakfast that I fixed for him.

I don't know if it was being a musician or not, but I was good at paying attention to the smaller details, the minute things. And my sense of timing for other things in life besides music wasn't poor either. So even though my older sister was 5 years my elder at 19, I was often given the short end of the stick when it came to doing work, or things for my parents. I didn't mind so much. It kept me busy and some of the little things in life were enjoyable.

"Your friends are still waiting," she said, holding out the phone.

"Yep," I said before picking it up. She sniffed and walked over to where I had made her a meal for the day.

She prodded it with a spoon, and raised her eyebrows, "This looks good. You're actually not half bad at cooking."

I had a bit of an eye for these things, as since my parents were busy a fair amount with their work and I was left alone a lot, I took up art and music to pass the time. There was something about the artistry of creating songs and bringing representations of people and places to life in art I guess, that carried onto everyday things. I also liked drawing and writing in my spare time as well as listening to music. A sketchbook in tow, a fiction book as reference for whatever person or place I was drawing, and a set of airpods plugged in my ears with a good song were all that I needed to have a great day.

"Hello?" I said into the phone, hearing the rush of voices that were my friends. We did the thing where we chose conference mode and were able to have a four-way conversation. We didn't do it that often because it did make the calls more expensive, and we had the sense to keep zipped about it around family or friends for precisely the same reason.

I retreated to my room - I had ate beforehand - and a couple of hours of the morning melded away as I chattered and talked to my friends and we drew up the plans for a good sleepover.

I loved my friends, they were the life and soul, and we spent a lot of time hanging out outside of school and factories as well. In District Three everyone had to start work in factories at a young age, though it part-time, and most people tended towards professions to do with technology. I did well enough at studies that I knew I could probably etch out an existence with a menial job manufacturing electronics somewhere down the line, but I badly wanted to be a songwriter when I grew up, almost more than I wanted to breathe.

There wasn't as much happiness nor joy in the world as there should be. The possibilities of getting reaped were small, but the greater realities of living in a civilisation such as this, and being predominantly under the capitol's thumb, as what was pretty obvious if you ever thought about it, was an unreal reality that took it's damage upon the people.

There should be some happiness, I thought. Knowing the chances of making it as a songwriter were unusually slim. But there has to be enough room for one person, and I want to be the first singer of District Three.

Once the plans were done we hung up and I went to get changed, thinking of the three day sleepover we had planned in two weeks. I had a lot of friends at school and in the factories, but my group of three best friends were Jangle Hodges, Luna Moon and Angel Heaven. Jangle was 14, tall, with curly brown hair and an ovalish face. He was pretty supportive, could be commanding and lead with a natural air at times, and generally a good bloke. I was about 5 ft 7" tall, on the thinner side at around 100 lbs with purple hair and eyes.

It was unusual in District Three, but since my parents worked fairly high up in the district (they didn't work at the factories. Instead they worked within the council and advised the mayor as well as bein the people who did the necessary community planning and civil jobs every district needed), we were quite well of for people in the District. I knew our priceless luxuries like multiple instruments, a fairly spacious house, and commodities like hair dye were unusual for most people of the district and something to be extremely grateful for. We had a piano, violin, flute, guitar and bass in our house. Some of them added over the years at my request from birthday presents. I liked the guitar best. Sitting somewhere cozy and nice, picking out melodies from a guitar with each homely strum, it was the instrument I wanted to debut with as a songwriter.

Anyways, because of that we had hair dye and I dyed my hair purple a while ago. It's natural colour was a medium brown, but now it was bright purple. It was easily my most distinguishing feature. I had dark blue eyes, almost purple as well, and I was the calm and collected one out of my group of friends. I was good at paying attention to the minor details, calmer and more collected than most under stressful situations, but I wasn't much physically. I was no competition if I ever got into a fight, and I wasn't commanding nor ambitious in the way my best friend Jangle or sister Quantum was. She was very involved and focussed with her work and was fast on getting promoted up the ladder in management.

I was just, nice. I was just...me. A nice friendly, if not plain person with my own hopes and dreams that may never be achieved to fill in the blanks a lot of the times I thought. Like that one member of a boyband. Not the Bold one, or the Hot One, or even the Funny one, just...there. The Nice and Friendly one TM. I didn't think I was particularly memorable.

Jangle and I were the only guys in the group. Luna Moon was a girl of average height with brown mousy hair and a roaring laugh. She was the jokestar of the group, the wild one, a whole heap of fun to be around. And then there was Angel Heaven, the shy girl with strawberry blonde hair that I noticed she chewed ever so slightly when she was nervous, smooth skin and clear blue eyes like the colour of the sky District 3 never was.

I wanted to write a song about her, and her eyes. She was responsible, astute, a little quiet sometimes but very talkative and chatty once you got to know her. And dare I admit - she was the girl I had a crush on in my friendship group, but I would never say it to her face. Not now. Maybe when I was older. I started thinking about the beginning stanzas of a possible song for that.

_I'm been dreaaaaaaamming of telling you all my feeeeeeeeellings_

_When I was a young-wild-lost boy of 14 who fell uuuuuuuuuuunder your gaze_

But the harried voice of my sister pulled me from my thoughts. I took one more glance at myself in the mirror. I was wearing long black pants with a mostly white jacket, with brown strips the end and a purple and blue coloured design of a nanobot, one of District 3's leading technologies, on the front for decoration which bought out the colours of my hair. I gave one last nod of satisfaction that I looked pretty put together in the mirror before I turned to go to the Reaping.

It was my brother's first time so I lead him to the places and told him where to sit, before I went to my section. The Reaping began and I'm pretty sure I thought what everyone else was thinking - it's only ever a small, almost impossibility, that you are selected. Just gather around, everyone almost united under the roof for one day a year, and then continue with your life, with the wretched games by the capitol leaving not one more deeper mark. Statistically speaking, you won't even personally know the people reaped out of a sea of faces, 12-18, boys and girls, in the entire district.

The female was called. An unfamiliar face I didn't recognise.

The guy was called.

"UNIVERSE ASTRO!"

Suddenly my heart fluttered to my throat and my stomach leapt. Fear wrapped it's tendrils around my heart.

This couldn't be right!

"UNIVERSE ASTRO!"

This couldn't be!

"I VOLUNTEER!" I screamed. Before the cameras zoomed on me. I took one hasty gulp as I walked on stage and tried to prevent from either hyperventilating or passing out.

I usually think before I act, but I can't believe just what happened. But then again, I thought as the adrenaline and panic ebbed alway slightly, my little brother was well, smaller, younger...I thought of all our fun moments at our house playing and screwing around or doing nothing in particular, all the now bittersweet memories...

He was an innocent far less equipped for the games than I was...

My little brother was picked as tribute so I volunteered.

* * *

**Author's Note: Thanks for the responses. I don't know why (I wasn't expecting this) but the reaping chapters were surprisingly easy to write. I don't know if it was caused truly really lucky and you all gave me lovely tribute forms or what, because I feel like I've gotten really substantial requests and there's a lot to write about for pretty much all of them. **

**Because the reaping chapters are for some reason, so easy to write, and I don't know when I'll be this inspired/easy again as I think this story is naturally going to get harder to write as it goes on, I've decided to have an updating schedule of 1-2 days for the Reaping chapters and just get them all out haha. If I get up to the pre-games or the games it only means I'll be more likely to finish this syot. **

**Also, I forgot to add last chapter but author's own requests for their tributes override polls. So if an author requests for their tribute to die at a particular point in time, that's not going to be changed by polls or anything. And I have a few bloodbath requests so they would definitely be honoured :) **

**I think I'm also going to stick to this length because it's just easier (might as well have long chapters while I have the inspiration for it yeah?) and once I'm nearing District 11-12's Reaping, I'll have a greater idea of the chapter length/updating schedule then so I'll let you know what it'll be like then.**

**Though, if you come back to find there's several chapters posted since you last read it, please go back and review every single chapter if you have something to say because I am interested in your thoughts about the tributes or how they're going to fare etc, and I am interested in reading it. So please do that if you have _anything_ to say, I will be incredibly grateful as I'm reading them. **

**That's all I have to say for now. Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed this chapter! :)**

**Also, to Guest(Rider), that's fine! I'll look forward to writing it :) **

**Cheers,**

**WhymsicalBell**


	5. District 4 Reaping

The End of the World: 32nd Hunger Games SYOT:

Chapter 4 - District 4 Reaping

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**District Four  
Aqua O'Neil**

I woke up with the sun dappling through the windows and lighting up patches of my loose-leafed notebooks on the Reaping morning. Even in times of stress, there was beauty, I thought as I got up and found myself rearranging and shuffling the papers and books before I got dressed, up and ready for the day.

I was a neat freak, an organisation freak, however you say it, and I hated having disorganisation anywhere. It was a bit of a rare moment when my daintily put away books and items would be unbounded and messed up, but it was something I wanted to correct right away.

Artistic mess was only beautiful when planned, I thought as I brushed my teeth and did my hair. General mess was just slobbiness and if not a little, mildly disgusting. I couldn't help but catch sight of my reflection in the mirror. I was at average height for a sixteen year old. I had long, wavy light brown hair that ended halfway down my back and blue eyes. My skin was a cocoa sort of tan and I had freckles. I grinned at myself in the mirror. I liked life and what each new day was going to bring generally.

I went to my bedroom where I picked up the dress that I had picked out several week's ago and slipped it on. It was a light creamy yellow, had two straps across my shoulders that slopped towards the centre at the front, and was tight until it got to just below the bust, where it spiralled out in an effortless sort of flow. I sighed and twirled around once, watching the fabric spiral out in it's pretty arc before folding back in it's spot once I was done. I loved sundresses, especially flowing ones. It just made me feel so wild and free.

I've liked art ever since I was a kid. There was something about the waves gently crashing down on the beach, the undulating battle between sea and man, with the beach so stoic and just that right touch of sombre yellow in the pre-dawn light, and the battered waves coming again and again to the surface, bringing their jaunt and echoing chaos and burst of life all in one delicate wave. Or perhaps the way creamy white foam dribbled away to reveal a shell half buried beneath the sand, the glimmer of it's back catching the sun's glare and turning it into an iridescent hologram when viewed from an angle. Or just the way plants and greenery was so contrasted against the sea in the background or the mostly cream and vanilla coloured houses. That stalk of fresh green grass.

I like painting things and capturing images with my brush. It was fun and bought out a different side of me. Unusual flowers, a baby bird, a conch shell found underneath the waves, or even a muddied and broken brick - had it's story to tell. I loved painting and drawing anything that I found.

It was a bit of a far fetch, here in District 4, but I hoped that as well as becoming a fisherman, netter, diver, chef, which here in District 4 meant someone who gutted and prepped the animals en masse before they were transported to the capitol, when I was older, there could also be a sliver of opportunity for me to become an artist. One day, when I had enough paint and materials, I wanted to paint the whole of District 4, and capture all the moments, the good and the bad, the joys and the sorrows, the beautiful and the tragic, for the world to see.

My mother called me to get ready to go to the Reaping along with my father. We lived quite far from the District's centre so it would be a long walk.

"Don't rush me. I haven't watered the plants or fed the parrots yet," I said, "There's still some things I need to do before we go. Just let me do the necessary."

I felt a bit guilty as my mum looked taken aback, but it wasn't a look she hadn't given me before, as she left me to my own devices. I didn't like being told what to do, or taking other people's nonsense in general. Even though I was mostly cheerful, 'sweet' and nice most of the time I suppose, I could get incredibly determined when I wanted to be.

After I did all those tasks, and we had breakfast, we hurried of to the Reaping.

The moment I entered the civic pavillion where the Reaping was held, my friends rushed over to me. I was excited to see them and we talked and chattered about this or that, almost anything underneath the sun. I loved talking to people and finding out what made them keep live, it was one of my favourite things about people.

"Silence now. We'll have our first tribute..." said the capitol escort. Ours was a male and quite a handsome one at that, I thought, as he drew the name and announced it for the world to hear.

"AQUA O'NEIL."

Blood shot to my heart. Images of mines going of, the sad siren of a songbird's cry as the canon fired, fingers tracing blood in the sand came to mind. I knew about the Hunger Games, I saw what happened in the visuals flashed upon the television screen for the world to see.

Even though District 4 was a career District, we were the smallest and poorest of the career districts. Pretty much everyone was trained, but not nearly enough that people actively wanted to volunteer. I'd say there were volunteers 70% of the time.

The escort puckered his lips and started panning the audience with his eyes. The silence seemed to scream at me.

This was one of those 30% of the times.

I took a deep breath in, held it, and then walked across the pavillion with my head head high.

If I was going into the games, I wasn't going to pity myself and act like it was the worst thing imaginable.

Think of it like a positive experience. I thought to myself. There was the wondrous train ride through all of the Districts and the opportunity to see what lay outside your district. Something very little people got to see. The capitol must have high end hotels, gadgets, technologies, clothes, food. Almost like a joyride before the games began. And once it did, the cameras were rolling and you had your moments to interact with the wider audience and spread your message. It was almost like a chance, something that could make or break you, something that could give you a career for the rest of your life, something that could work well if you saw the opportunity through rose-tinted glasses.

If I was reaped, I was going to march onto that stage like I owned it.

If I was reaped, I was going to go into the games with my head held high and do all I could to win.

I was determined to give it my all, and my all could be a very dangerous thing indeed.

* * *

**District Four  
Ocean Sterling**

I woke up feeling pumped today. I actually like the Hunger Games because of all the festivities that went on. It was exciting, interesting and new, and watching them on television wasn't half bad either. The capitol did wonders to the show and edited it into what was akin to professonal filmography. The cameras were expertly placed and the shots were stable, the microphones in the arena must have been top-notch for the audio was very good, and the storyline was more often then not edited in a way that made sense and was interesting.

Despite what everyone said, the games were actually televised quite well, and although it wasn't very popular to say it outright, I actually liked the games and liked watching them. It was interesting things on the telly for the next few months.

I learnt that the hard way though. I wasn't very popular at school nor the training academy, probably because I let it slip that I liked watching the games and rooted for a District 1 career one year because she was, as I said 'Hot' in all it's essence. I didn't understand the looks I received then, but I do now. Or at least I think I do.

I talk too much. Prank too much. Say too much. I was a bit of a jokestar and a class clown in my school and academy. Some people thought I was hilarious but other times, I got the blunt end of popularity.

That didn't faze me though. Sometimes people were quick to judge and if they were wrong, there could be other things you did to make them see they were wrong. Reminding them everyday for instance, that you didn't mean whatever you said, or that their view of you was wrong and they should give you a second chance. Or poking them to get their attention should it be needed.

I wasn't as popular as I thought I would be, but some people appreciated and enjoyed my pranks, so it was an acceptable medium.

I showered, then got dressed in my reaping outfit, and gelled up my hair in preparation for the big event. I was very tall at 6 ft, toned from being captain of the swim team and also fishing and diving at the side. My family looked after the spear-fishing segment of District 4, which was diving down and spearing fish fresh from the waters, or diving to pick up oysters and scallops directly from the ocean floor with our hands. It was a smaller segment as more and more, things tended towards technology these days and the businesses running huge fishing ships or high-tech netting were becoming ever the more increasingly popular. But apparently hand picked or caught fish and shelled animals were more tender and fresh in a way, and had a wanted quality that was missing in the mass caught ones, so it was still a roaring industry.

Because of that, my father - Tyde Stering - and mother - Wave Stering - frequently dived and swam in order to catch the fish. It was their job. 24-7. We really were at the heart of District 4. That, along with the general swimming and district-speciality fundamentals we had to learn at school, I was very good at it. I helped my father on the weekends ever since a young age, so I made the swim team quite easily and was captain on virtue of having the fastest times. I also picked up surfing quite easily. In fact, I'd say growing up in my family's household, which was all about water, had lead to most of the hobbies in my life.

I finished gelling up my hair and smirked at myself in the mirror before heading to the living room to eat something and then go to the Reaping. I had incredibly curly blonde hair and piercing eyes as blue as the ocean. I was a bit of a prankster and appreciated a good prank from time to time, so I had a cheeky grin and I suppose a 'bad boy' look that pranksters got I suppose.

Some girls at school had a crush on me. I was just that cool.

After a meal we went to the Reaping. I loved the Reaping. It was situated in the civic pavillion, a huge cobblestoned square in the centre of the district where you could see all the paths trickling out from between the trees or houses which lead to it. The ocean was visible in the distance and a cool wind blew through the palm trees that were artfully planted to increase the attraction of the square. I love it, and love the efforts our district goes to put on it's best face for the games. I love the burst of surprise and attention that surrounds the tributes after they've reaped or volunteered. That moment, when all eyes were on you and watched as you walked to the stage. I've always wondered what it would be like. And just that split second after the name was called. It seemed like such a powerful moment.

I watched as the rest of the people filed in, and the escort got ready to draw out the names. I wasn't really a serious contender for the games because I wasn't considered very good at the academy, and when all the math was done and the paperwork through and through, I wasn't the select handful in the single digits that was said to have a good shot of winning.

I didn't have that much of an idea who the top contenders for this year would be. The unfortunate thing about the Hunger Games, was that any sort of historical or factual information about it that was taught at school was done in Politics and Sociology, easily one of the most boring subjects. If you wanted to strain your ears and hear the latest gossip about what was happening at the training academy for the teacher that took it also oversaw a lot of the things that went on at the academy - you'd actually have to pay attention in Politics and Sociology. And that was...no way.

But I reckon it would be someone good. It had to be someone good that the District cooked up. I liked watching the games partly for the games and partly because our District was a career District and often produced the best tributes. It was a surprise to see who volunteered for our district and then to cheer them on for the next few months or so. I liked to pit the district tributes up against each other and judge them according to their previous and say which one I thought was better or not. District Four for the most part, never disappointed me growing up, so although I was a little in the dark about who was going to volunteer, I was a bit excited.

The escort got ready to pull the names out. A breeze blew in and fluttered it's way across my ankles. I got that feeling again. Just suddenly, on a whim, I wondered what would happen if I volunteered as a joke. Actually, now that I was thinking about it, it got my blood pumping and hackles rising. What if I volunteered.

Called my name out.

Had the cameras on me.

Whistled and cheered at the audience.

And then said "I'm joking" "That was a joke". "I didn't mean to volunteer, someone else can take my place."

Imagine the humour. I saw it on the capitol screen, as clear as it could be. It was a quiet and uneventful day in District Four...the reaping was about to begin. And just as everyone was about to fall asleep in their seats, a charismatic and attractive boy 17 years of age stood up. "I VOLUNTEER," he bellowed, so fast, so soon, without even a moment's hesitation since the tribute's name was reaped.

"What?" The ladies of the capitol would say.

"What", Milo Montgomery or Freddy Mann, the announcers for the games that I much loved of late, though Freddy was a bit confusing for me and Milo was more easy to follow along, would say as they scratched their head.

And then I would turn to look at the camera and be like "IT WAS ALL A JOKE"

"YOU'VE BEEN PRANKED"

"I NEVER VOLUNTEERED" and then they would call out the real volunteer and the tape of myself would live forever on the screen. The little prankster before the real volunteer. A burst of refreshingness. I wondered briefly, if anyone had ever volunteered as a joke in the history of the games.

It's okay, I thought. Someone else would volunteer. District Four turns out male volunteers most years. They'll fight to volunteer and the escort would accept them on account of seeing how much taller or how much more muscle they've got on you. They'll go with the tribute best suited for the games and to give it the most fun, and you'll be hero in terms of the joke in everyone's eyes and for months after, you could probably scream "I volunteer" for anything in class, and everyone would laugh along and get the same joke.

Yes, I thought with a chortle as I watched the girl walk up and twirl around in her dress. I'm going to volunteer, have my moment in the sun. Someone more qualified is going to volunteer, and it'll all be Kool with a capital K.

"Serpent Johnso-"

"I VOLUNTEER-" I yelled.

Instantly, the crowd parted. People turned to stare at me with a mixture of surprise and shock on their face. Their mouths dropped open, their eyes found mine in all seriousness, their fingers pointed and I noticed a berth beginning to open up right in front of me that trailed all the way to the front of the stage like a pile of dominos as people stepped over each other to make way for the tribute.

I had imagined the cameras in my head. The ones you see at the side gaily panning over everyone else suddenly taking an interest in me and panning over. I had pictured the moment so carefully in my head.

Instead cameras appeared out of nowhere - places I didn't even notice - and leapt hungrily at me. Ten blinding flashes later, and the spotlight on me, everything seemed more real. I stared at the front of the stage, where the escort was waiting, the casual vacancy beside him where the tribute was meant to occupy, his impatient tapping of his fingers at his sides and the long arduous walk ahead.

Oh, I realised as I walked, dumbstruck. The cameras that panned around and took long sweeping shots of the hall weren't the same ones that zoomed into the tribute. Thinking back to the Reapings I'd watched as a kid, since when did the panning shot of the entire Reaping hall or venue play on tv, and then the same shot started zooming in uncomfortably close to a tribute's face? No, it always swapped to a new shot to give a close-up of the tribute's profile. Different camera. Different procedures.

I was still in shock a little.

And just like before. I realised I did or made the right realisations a little too late.

I had arrived at my spot on stage. Some part of me aware my mouth was still hung open. Even though I was about a head taller than the escort and pretty sure at least decently attractive in the capitol's eye being on stage, I felt like stomping on my foot and pissing myself.

Why, oh why did I volunteer?

It had started as a joke but looked like it was only going to become more real now.

It was too late for anyone else to volunteer or say it was a joke. Too much time had passed since I volunteered til now to say anything.

I faintly realised my mouth was still open and closed it with a snap as a different camera I noticed this time, zoomed in on me.

"So what's your name boy?" asked the escort, staring at me.

"Ocean Stering," I said, suddenly aware that I was just good at surfing, swimming, fishing, and the basics of most water activities. I was just good, above average maybe. Good, great at certain aspects. But just good. Compared to some of the other volunteers I'd seen and their speciality with certain weapons it was...

The escort congratulated me and his voice broke me out of my thoughts. I smiled and laughed as I stood beside the female tribute from my district for one more shot, before following them of stage.

This is for real. I thought with the blood thumping through my ears and my neck hairs raising. I was pretty tall and decently toned however, I wondered if I was really had a chance.

This is for real.

And you do actually have a chance.

You're going to actually go in the games now. I was momentarily happy at all the procedures and the prospect of being on live television was. Just have a strategy...stick with the careers...do what everyone else does...you'll be great.

Give it your all, a voice said.

And, I thought as my resolve was made up. Don't let them see it initially started of as a joke. How _embarrassing._ Give it your all, you have a chance, you can win this.

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**Author's Note: My apologies for writing Ocean if this section seemed a bit of, I don't think I did that great of a job and for some reason it was the hardest to write. (I have trouble writing jokestar characters, always :P) **

**I also didn't ask for as much details as I could have in the original form, which wasn't bought to my attention until Guest(Rider) asked if I wanted tribute creators to submit interview outfits and tokens. On second thought, there are some more things I should have asked about tributes but didn't. So if you submitted a tribute please fill out these additional details: **

**Interview outfit: **

**Interview angle: **

**What they want their tribute to show to the gamemakers for the training score: **

**(Note that it's not the score your tribute gets, but what they show, the scores they get would be calculated in a different way)**

**I'm not having tokens because it's too late since the Reapings are done (I think I'm just gonna not mention tokens in this story?) and f****or chariot parades I'm making up the costumes cause the tributes have to coordinate so it's not fair if I use one creator's decision for both tributes.**

**I'm really sorry. Next syot I'****m asking for all this in the beginning form but hey, at least it's a learning experience right? **

**Also, something came up in real life. (Dw, it's nothing bad). But I don't think I'll be able to go on ffnet as much, so unfortunately, I'm going on a bit of a hiatus. I'm really really sorry, but please note that I love this story and I've been really inspired by it and I want to finish it. So I haven't given up on it, if I ever come back, whether in a month's time, a year's time or something, I would aim to finish it! **

**Over and out,**

**WhymsicalBell**


	6. District 5 Reaping

The End of the World: 32nd Hunger Games SYOT:

Chapter 5 - District 5 Reaping

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**District Five**

**Astra Huyes**

I woke up not to the sound of my siblings that I shared a room with, or the usual sounds of everyone rising in the morning. But the tranquil stillness of my room, and the blurry images of light dancing off the edges of my vision, as I listened to the silence with my eyes still closed; lucid. Before my dreams plundered the quiet reverie of the morning and pulled me back in again for another round before I fully awoke.

I was in a familiar place. The old grey building blocks of the district was far, far behind me. The loud dams and electric generator turbines just a quiet aspect of some other reality. Miles and miles and poles apart from here. Over in the distance, as I looked with tired and beary eyes, was the rest of the town, the dams, the generators, the schools, the huge town hall where the Reaping was going to be held. The world of District 5; the civilisation of District 5. Hungry, a little poorer than we would have liked, regularly cheated by the capitol, just a drop of existence in this huge swathe of almost nothingness and barren land we were surrounded by. My home.

And here, away from the district, in pickled paths and winding roads, was the familiar abandoned house at the edge of the district I often tended to.

The forest earth seemed to burn all the more vividly, as I saw feet that were my own pad their way carefully through. Laughter and voices from previous memories that I had been there ringing out cheerfully in the background, then ebbing away. Fading, silent. Happiness from another time, that perhaps I could not find nor regain again in the near future.

The house grew closer. It was musty, the wood was rotting, and everything seemed vaguely damp and dark. But in it - there was a familiar odour, a sense of friendliness, which came in with the dust and the locusts. The place seemed lit up in the morning sunshine, a beautiful house of rich brown divine grey in the soft light. A quiet droning sound in the distance told that the capitol and all the other districts were miles and miles away, maybe not even there.

I found the outline of the house. The oh so familiar walls. Staring back at me with a haunting familiarity. As I headed around the corner, and then to the back, where I'd always gone.

The sunlight faded from the scene for a brief few moments after I stepped foot in. Revealing a grey fence which was live and humming with electricity. It started from the edge of one side of my vision, a tiny dot in the distance, unbroken lines all the way through - I couldn't see a way out, nor a way in, and the same unrelenting grey wires hung the rest of the way until they faded out of vantage point at the other end.

On the back of the abandoned house, was an illegal mural facing the back fence. It had been scrawled on there sometime between when I was 5 and 6. I remember vividly going there on a game of hide and seek when our school took a field trip near the edge of the district - I couldn't remember what for, that was when I was 5. And then another day, I was near that area again, I think I had to do some one-off business to help my family with our role in maintaining the electrical turbines. Not the ones which generated electricity for the capitol - that came from the big dams. But the smaller turbines scattered around the district which generated electricity for ourselves, and that helped run the electrical components of the dam.

I was there and it had started to rain and a thunderous shower was appearing on this sunny day. Not wanting to catch a cold and be ill, I vividly remembered the abandoned house near the edge of the district that I had been to in my youth in a game of hide and seek, and was quite surprised to find there was also a mural scrawled on the back of it in cheap graffiti.

I was about 6 then, nearly 7, so I suppose someone had snuck there and scrawled it since. It was unlikely to be an adult - they had better things to do with their time, and unlikely to be a kid. I was dead scared that day, I didn't think any kid in their right mind would want to sneak out to the edge of the district to carry out such an act. But it was the mural which brightened up my day and made it slightly better. I suppose it had been scrawled by some teenagers, older than me, maybe the oldest in my elementary school, or somewhere in highschool. I most likely didn't know them.

But there it was.

It was bright. It was colourful. Using vivid reds, and oranges, yellows, greens and blues and all a manner of hues blended carefully together. Like the person had been saving up some paint for this special occasion.

The mural started of with bleeding red diamonds around the outside, then orange, then yellow, and so on. In the centre, were two hands held together, they were the centrepiece of a see-saw, which emerged on either end. And on the see-saw, were a bunch of things which represented the district. The symbol of our district name and logo on a white dam - typically the first thing one saw if they ever took a tour to the dams. The tallest building which was used as a wind generator for electricity for the dam. The old town hall which had been erected for centuries, having even existed before the rebellion. And on the other side of the see-saw, was the capitol. Their logo, the flashing lights. The first glimpse of their city seen from the vantage point of the train line that all tributes saw when they entered - it was a sight often aired on live television when it came to the reaping. There was a picture of President Snow, the figure of the capitol, with a thick black circle around it and a black line slashed through it. There was also symbols of the other districts around it.

All equal. Showcasing their equality. I used to stare for hours when I was little, staring at the symbols and working out which was meant for which district. It taught me a lot about the other districts outside of 5, and was of interest to me. Now, I still went there ocasionally, but it was getting harder and harder to find the time to pull away.

Seeing that bright mural through the darkest days made the shadows go away. It represented equality, a notion that I heavily agreed with and began to comtemplate even more in the years to come. To be equal was the ultimate good of all. People wouldn't suffer, no one would be taking advantage of each other, people's miseries would end and the world would go forward in whatever technological advancement, or new philosophical values that would be evolved. Kindler, gentler ones, evolution to the future.

Even though I knew it was rare, and a difficult feat, when I grew older, I wanted to become a mayor of the district, to spread equality and improve the lives of those that were truly struggling.

It grew rarer. Reality came with age and I knew with increasing clarity that advancing to become the mayor was basically an impossible feat. That politics were difficult, and often held by the upper class, even here in 5 (so much for equality) and that often families who were politically involved maintained their hold over what meagre power they had in the District, and it was harder for the working class families such as mine to enter.

Still, I visited the place often. Sometimes in person, sometimes in dreams, staring at the mural upon the abandoned house at the edge of the district. Seeking solace, peace, hope, what? I didn't know, but all I knew was that it kept me going.

I turned back to look once again at the mural. A nostalgic wailing feeling arising from deep within my chest, like it was the last time this image would scrawl across my vision and greet me with it. When suddenly, the sun was fading away, not in a gradient, but little spots of it were turning black and completely disappearing, dotting away in patches.

I felt annoying ants and buzzy fees scratch and clamber their way up my arms. I groaned and tried to scratch at the skin as the noises grew older.

"Astra!"

"Astra!"

"Wake up!"

"Urghh?" I groaned, as I woke with the sunlight dappling in through the windows, and about three sets of hands all on me at once, having nudged and proded at my arm to get me up. I stared into the faces of my three of my four siblings, watching, as they watched me.

"What took you so long? You were a ROCK!" said the youngest, Gemma, by just a few minutes. Her twin sister Ora hung to her left, head resting on her palms as she giggled a little at that nonsensical remark, "A rock! Rocks don't move at all!" she said, giggling a little, then, as if something told her that remark was funnier than it should have been, that exploded into a peal of contagious giggles that soon had her twin Gemma laughing too. The two 7 year olds laughed into their hands for a good minute or two.

"I suspect that's the point," said Virginia quietly, my other younger sister, who was 10 years old. I was the eldest at thirteen. "Anyways, mother was just saying we all needed to get dressed and ready for the reaping. She bought us all candy as a special treat because she says we need it," she said.

"Candy!" exploded Ora and Gemma, practically tripping themselves to get up and go.

"CANDDY!" came the voice of my brother Jersey, also 7, he was the male to the set of girl twins, and so completed the triplets. He was currently in the bathroom, trying to fit into his 'big boy clothes' that he was wearing to the Reaping. Ora and Gemma didn't need much help with the dresses as they'd watched Virginia and I don the fancy ones for the reaping years and years before they were old enough to even wear dresses to the Reaping.

"Not so fast you two!" I said, grabbing a hairbrush by the dresser, "I need to do your hair!"

"Noo!" They cried as both Virginia and I pried them towards the centre of the room, a small smile of amusement making it's way to Virginia's face, as I tossed her a brush and we began the arduous task of brushing.

That dream was probably one of the last I'd have of it for a long time. That place didn't appear in my dreams too often - it was serendipitous when it did, and if it did, it would be a while before the next time I chanced to see it. It was so long ago that I made the promise to become a mayor when I was older. And the older I grew the more the impossibilities and impracticalities of that idea came to mind. I almost hated that dream sometimes. Reminding me of childish whims that I could no longer pertain to anymore in this world.

I knotted the ponytail with a blue ribbon, and finished tieing the double-knotted bow. Virginia finishing not a sort while later. Then finally, the twins rushed of to get their candy, leaving me and Virginia to stare sheepishly at each other. "I best go help Jersey with his vest and bowtie," she said slowly, leaving me to get dressed in my Reaping wear.

"Thanks," I replied, getting up and running the brush through my own hair several timies, then adding, "You look nice in that," and genuinely meaning it. Virginia was dressed in a sleaveness lavender dress, with two matching grey collars, and a base that opened out past the waist. It ended in a layer of ruffles all around, then another layer, and another. The first lavender, second magenta and third the palest pink, which added colour to her skinny frame and light strawberry blonde hair. It made her look more mature in a pretty way than her age of ten would suggest, and with a crush I realised that my siblings were growing up. Soon, Virginia would no longer be the kiddy girl she was, but a tween, and then a teenager, much like myself.

Virginia smiled, "thanks," she said, before hurrying away to the bathroom.

I sighed as I grabbed my dress and headed to the front of the mirror. My siblings and I shared a room. It was rather big because it had to accomodate all of us, in fact, it was the master bedroom of the house. My parents took the next biggest, which was also, the only other bedroom in the place. My sister Virginia was mostly shy, polite, quiet for her age. She was mostly helpful and I sensed tried to copy me and follow me for as long as possible. I also sensed a little insecurity within her, like she wasn't sure how to become her own person. I hoped to help her grow in the upcoming years.

The little triplets Gemma, Ora and Jersey were mostly fun and innocent. Gemma and Ora got along like wildfire, though Gemma was the more quieter and sensible one, whilst Ora could be wilder and more brash or bold at times. I sensed they would fight in the upcoming months before peetering out to a standstill and knowing how to deal with each other as twins often went through. Jersey used to be fiesty and join in on their games, but as time grew, I reckon he started noticing the differences between us girls and him, and that no, he couldn't quite wear the same dresses or pretend to be princesses as the girls did (much less wanted to) and was breaking of from them. It was likely Gemma and Ora would be close, while he was probably their closest confidente before Virginia and I, but not as close.

And I, what was I really? I didn't know, my sense of self grew and ebbed the older I got, especially with one of my childhood dream jobs becoming flicked off with realisations as I grew older, I was a little unsure, but I mostly kept it cool on the outside and tried to lead my siblings through the mess that was life.

I was Astra Huyes, 13 years old. I was the eldest of my family and had mostly been a happy and bubbly person throughout the years. I don't remember much from my childhood save for the vivid moments here and there, but I was told my family and friends that I was bubbly and optimistic, and I remember a vague notion of easygoingness and cheerfulness that underlined the edges of my memories back then, so I guess that was true. I was happy and easygoing and mostly listened to my parents, did the jobs right, and was the perfect sister. Just like how I got straight As in school, the perfect student, the perfect friend(I tried to be).

It was funny, perfection found me accidentally when I was happy and bright and bubbly as a kid, and happened to be the perfect sister or student, but as I grew older, it just seemed to taunt me. I wanted to maintain a facade of normalcy when inside I was screaming that the world wasn't as nice nor optimistic as I thought it would be, and I so badly wanted things to change, for it to change, to flick the power on and overthrow the system, starting with becoming mayor for this district and overseeing some things like a welfare system, where money and supplies were taken from the rich and donated directly to the poor and struggling families. Instant healthcare for the entire district, better wages, better distribution of everything, a push for everyone to get an education so they had an option of where to work when they were older and didn't have to be pushed into the same working class lifestyle as my family did. Better opportunities. Images of speaking on a podium in front of the district, shining hope and light and bringing peace to the families came to mind.

That was something, among the many, things that I wanted. That sometimes taunted me and caused my heart to hammer and blood to run streaming to my ears and then the world flickered black and white, as if in vignettes, everything felt shaky and my vision blurred and I was flapping my arms and oh god - I was having a panic attack.

I had been medicated for it actually. Ever since I was 11, the last year before I was eligible to be reaped. No one knew. My siblings did I suppose. The triplets had little recollection of it, and Virginia seemed to convince herself it was nothing and did not further ask about it. Though I did. I knew, and it was something not many people outside of the family knew about me.

I sighed, staring at myself in the mirror once again. Virginia had once pointed out that I looked very old and mature for my age, and I suppose I did too, I even looked older and more mature than I thought possible, as I looked at myself.

I was quite tall for my age, being about 5'6 in height, with shoulder length strawberry blonde hair that fell in waves, that contrasted with my blue eyes. I was had been skinny for most of my life, though lately I'd been filling out more and had some slight curves to my figure, my build was better described as willowy I supposed.

I was wearing a peach dress with fluttery sleeves that flared out into fluttery flaps of petals near my elbows. It coasted my sides, hugging my curves before tapering of at the knee where it came in, and then opened into one big ruffle just a few inches below it. I looked more mature than I thought I would in this dress, certainly more than the airy grey dress I wore last year when I was 12, and that wasn't always a bad thing, I thought. Mature meant better chances of being a leader.

With a sigh I slipped on my shoes, collected Virginia and Jersey from the bathrooms and headed outside for some breakfast.

"Did you hear about the latest news?" Said my mother, Sefra, who was often non chalant and stone-faced in public but kind behind doors, "The capitol wanted more power from 5, so they sent us an order to increase it. And they also wanted to start channeling our power from our district to a few 'recently built and quite able bases' in their territory, and then channel it back to us in order to sell it to us for a price!"

"That's bull," I said, "They're not trying to help us, or organise it better. They're just trying to profit more of us," I hollered.

"We wrote back and said it was impossible given the sheer quantity of the power generated. You need facilities which took us decades to build. Their puny little recently built bases would not be able to handle them," replied my father Richard, an intelligent and kindly man.

"That's dull. Them thinking their puny little machines are good enough to handle the sheer quantity that an entire district does," I replied, "maybe there's a switch switched off somewhere in their brain?"

"Astra!" said my mother, not one for making a scene.

"Oops, sorry," I said. I was sometimes sarcastic with colourful opinions, though generally for the best. I usually kept that hidden outside as it was best not to muddy the waters and rock the boat, and also because I didn't feel like it would mix well with my usual bubbly persona. I was freer to be snarky and truthful in my own home.

"You know we all feel the same about what the capitol's doing and that we're firm believers of kindness and equality for all people-" said her mother.

"Firm," added her father for emphasis.

"But it's smarter to keep our heads down in this political climate-"

"When I'm mayor-" I said, starting again, on a train I thought I'd long left ago.

"Astra! What did I tell you about being realistic-" started my mother, "The kindest way to treat yourself is to be realistic about-"

"It's an unusual ambition, but one I believe my special little girl could endeavor to achieve," cut in my father, flashing me with a warm smile that left me feeling quite good in the heart over the rest of breakfast.

We finished, got everyone in the car, and headed to the Reaping.

I broke away from my family and found my friends.

"Welcome to the Reaping. Where we literally called it that after the Grim Reaper coming to take you all for the dead! And we have such high opinions of your intellect we don't even expect you to notice!" said Shawn Corler, a tall pale lanky blonde with brown eyes who was pessimistic sarcastic. She lifted her eyebrows, popped open her mouth and spread her fingers wide as if inviting everyone to take part in that particular opportunity.

"Come on. It's only once a year and it doesn't really affect us," said Hunter Graves, a latino boy with jet black hair and green eyes who had a kinder, funnier personality, "It's so overdone when these stupid traditions are over with, people will see in history books how stupid and overt the capitol with it all."

"Do you think another mass extinction like the dinosaurs would get us?" whispered Karen Fetchel, my best friend. She was usually quiet and liked to draw, she was a tall brunette with pale skin and a sort of quiet pensievity that calmed me down when I was having my moments sometimes.

"At this rate it'll be a blessing not a curse," said Shawn.

"We'd have to pray to the mass extinction gods and thank them for their kindness if they do," I chirped in, as the group dissolved into laughter.

A few of the older kids glared at us. "Oops, a little too loud," I admonished, "we really shouldn't have been saying this sort of stuff too loudly."

"True. Anyhoo, I think we should get going," said Karen, "people are moving and we don't want to be the last ones to move there."

"No, I guess I'll see you guys after the Reaping," I said, before we split apart. Shawn and Hunter slipped their arms through each other and headed of to where the other 13 year old boys were nervously standing about, as Karen grabbed my arm and we moved of the roped of section for the 13 year old girls.

The mayor of the district got up and gave her speech. She was tall with pretty blonde hair several shades lighter and a blue suit and skirt that reflected the navy blue sheen often seen on the speckled surface of the water in the dam of District 5. I stared at her, enamored. I had been quite good at public speaking when I was at school, easily spurred on and motivated by a better world I wanted to see, but I was unsure if I could ever be as good or as efficient as her. She spoke with a casual ease and efficiency, like she was born to lead.

Then suddenly, the crowd swarmed, noises buzzed. I blinked and the afterimage of the mayor disappeared from my mind's eye, I had been too caught up in her speech about persevering through tough times with the changing weather patterns and seasons and how District 5 was ever so happy to produce another two tributes to keep up with this glorious tradition - words that had to be said in order to bow down to the capitol, and didn't realise the mayor had long finished and now the escort was almost done drawing names.

A brief silence broke out, and then suddenly-

"Astra Huyes!"

The district backed away. Eyes found me. First my friend Karen clutched at my arm, and then the eyes of Shawn and Hunter caught me, prompting the rest of the boys to quickly glance in my direction as more pairs of eyes swivelled towards me, until it seemed almost every single pair was switched on me. I gulped, feeling a nervous and panicky feeling rise up. Karen clutched helplessly at my arm, a fleeting, frightened expression on her face, before the escort announced my name once more and said I needed to come to the stage.

She pried her hands of in a desperate sort of motion, mouth opened wide, wordless, as I quickly found my feet and walked to the stage, palms sweaty, heart hammering, a frantic feeling coming inside.

But, the closer I got to the stage the calmer I felt. The closer I reached the spot where the mayor had once stood, saw the District up atop the stage and all the impressionable faces spread out, seeking the nearest tribute, and the escort's official welcoming hand, the more purposeful I felt.

I was tall for my age, not ill of health or physically weak, being probably average or above average in strength. I was a fast learner and had a cheery attitude. I could probably learn enough survival skills and one or two offensive skills to give myself a fighting chance in the games. People tended to underestimate girls from the non-career districts anyway. But I could definitely pack a punch if I wanted to, and reveal hidden strengths in survival, shelter building or whoever knows what else in the arena. I wasn't going to go into this without fighting. No, I was going to fight for everything I stood for, I was going to show that even if you oppress and squash down an entire district for pretty much the entirety of many of the member's lives - you can't kill them entirely. And I, was going to win, to show everyone, that you didn't have to let oppression get you down, and when I won and became victor, I was going to come back and use that newfound fame and authority to make changes to better benefit district 5.

I wanted to dedicate my entire life to that. Maybe raise the living standards and environment and maybe one day produce more victors for 5. A turning point in history. Maybe after they see this mayor, they'll be forever regretting the day any one single person doubted me in the audience today.

The escort shook my hand, and I beamed at the cameras in response, a lasting impression I hoped to make before the cameras gave their last parting glance and swivelled away.

* * *

**District Five**

**Jax Williamson**

I slept in late on the morning of the Reaping, not needing to attend my maintenance worker job at one of the smallest geothermal generators. The way District 5 worked was that all children were taught enough of the basics of power during school that they had more of an understanding of it than the capitol and any other District, and enough to do a couple of minor things in the factories or plants, but not a whole lot. During the teenage years one could take on a part-time job, or traineeships, but they were generally limited. It wasn't until you graduated from school and attended one to three years of work, or university for affluent ones, you could work in the bulk of the District.

My family were very rich, very elite, very high up. With my father being the second in command after the mayor, and my mother the deputy mayor's wife, that there was no need to work. Unlike the rest of the District, we lived well away from the dams and the electrical work and in nice polished houses a couple of streets down from the victor's village, and closer towards the town hall, which was the centre of the district. It was connected to a civics building at the back, which was where the council conducted most of their business, and where my parents worked.

There had been no need to get a part-time job for support or the like. But I wanted to.

To rebel.

For something to do other than sitting around the house getting bored out of my brains.

To do things I ordinarily wouldn't be allowed to do.

I slammed the wall angrily as I got up, blinking the morning sun out of my eyes. I threw the covers off and stepped onto the floor, keeping an ear out for sounds of commotion outside. The silence suggested there was no one about and that the house was all empty.

Typical.

My parents were the mayor's deputies yes, which meant that although the speeches and public communication as well as organisation and managerial decisions were pushed onto the mayor, my parents roles were moreso a social as well as political role. They had to talk to parties behind the scenes, gain sponsoring and funding from certain families for the small elections District 5 held. They had to talk to many different sectors and districts, get invited to parties or events, keep up appearances, make acquaintances, appease people. Remain well connected.

My parents were mostly absent in order to attend to their jobs, going to week long parties, stays, visits, on the opposite side of the district, forming connections with higher up individuals. They were often absent for weeks, months at a time if they had events back to back and preferred to sleep in a lodge or someone's accommodations closer to the event, so I didn't see them very often. But they expected me to put on something nice, and be ready to shake hands or meet guests should an event take place nearby. I often had to hide my emotions at not seeing them for a very long time, and put on a face and a nice smile for the others.

I only ever saw my mother at events and the occasional stretches when she arrived home. My father pretty much the same, but he spoke to me like I was a man, and talked a little more, still keeping some distance however.

I headed to the bathroom and washed up before getting dressed and ready for the Reaping.

I was average in height, lean, with blonde hair, pale skin and brown eyes.

Once I was done (I wore a silvery grey suit because as the deputy mayor's son I was expected to wear 'high class and fancy clothes' and because my parents made me) I went downstairs to have breakfast before heading of to the Reaping.

The house was quiet as I chewed, staring at the small dents on the wall which were hidden behind the edge of the table that went unnoticed, probably because my parents never actually occupied this house long enough for any continuous period of time to notice these things.

They had been made when I threw forks and knives at there out of anger or frustration. The smaller aims from when I was younger missing or bouncing of, but the older ones landing and sticking to the walls, going through the plaster, before I yanked it off. The gaping holes and battle wounds of the wallpaper staring straight back at me.

My family worked on an authoritative version of rules. There were rules for almost everything. 'Curfew at 10pm' (Staying out late was seen as behaviour of the scoundrels) 'No less than B on all school reports' 'You must do at least 2 sports, 1 competitive team-sport, 1 competitive individual sport' 'Always greet your elders with "yes sir" or "yes ma'am"' 'always listen to your elders' 'No crying' 'Sticks and stones may break my bones but words may never hurt me', and so on.

My mother told them to me initially as a kid, but then she just didn't bother and mostly only ever greeted me with a smile when she saw me, or draped an arm across my shoulders for press photos if need me. My father was the one who actually reinforced them and marked military-style orders at me sometimes.

There was a huge emphasis on not showing emotions. Emotions were or the weak, he said. Emotions were for the disorderly, these jump-start, immediate reactions enough to send a person spiralling into the depths of ill-behaviour and unrest. Emotions were trainwrecks, that ruined your life and lead to people behaving like baffoons, he said. Instead, you had to hide them, cut it off, abruptly, like a dam to a current of running water, severing the cable in an electrical circuit. Of, axed of. Shut down, fallen deep down the rabbit hole into an abyss, never to be seen again.

And if you didn't. Punishment saw itself through the items of his luxury choice taken away. I was never short of any items, clothing, food, toys, my parents bought them in abundance, whatever suited my needs. But whenever I expressed my anger or upset during my childhood, they were abruptly taken away. Shipped off to the local dumps, resold to the retailer who once again, reclaimed the rights to the item and would sell it to other customers in their stores. Locked up in the attic or the cellar. Meals were taken away at times for misbehaviour, if I wasn't 'being good', and being good rested on the many households rules there were.

So I learnt to obey them, and to stick with them...for now...It was better safe than sorry. It was just easier this way.

Though a deep dark part of me stirred and twisted with thoughts, bubbling and seething beneath the surface. It's funny. I ought to feel something. Sometimes I sit in my room in the odd hours of the night, replaying memories that started as early as when I was 4, trying to find some inkling of emotions. Anything, something. Some hint of anger then. But it was all blank, empty, like attempting to draw from an empty drawstringed bag and not finding anything tangible to grasp on. It was like a sweet nothing, there was no hint of emotion, nothing that could be scratched. I sometimes sat there for hours, not finding any direct emotion, but an underlying eratic sense of anger that came in bursts and was neither explained nor linked to anything.

And that's when the knifes and fork throwing started.

I asked his parents for more fancy tableware since I was 7 and started discovering that crutch. They bought it for me in droves, believing I was developing a fine sense for tablewear. But instead most of it just ended up at the walls, thrown in or at them so hard that the metal would literally bend or shatter upon impact.

I was interrupted from my thoughts and my meal by a sudden jolt and a jump. I hurried to the kitchen, pouring the rest of it in the trash and dumping it in the dishwasher. One of the house rules was never to eat at the table without proper setting out of table wear and cultery, even if for one person. And that I didn't do.

I busied myself with polishing a random figurine of the mantelpiece as my parents bustled in.

"That was a marvellous fair," thrilled my mother, "I could do it all again if I had to. Brilliant meeting the Petersons that day, a wonderful first impression and so it was."

"Of course dear, and we shall. We are not exempt from their guest list for the next annual-" my parents eyes fell on me and they both shut up. As if there was nothing to say.

"Hello darling," drawled my mother, she talked a little like the accent of the capitolians and the escorts. It was a little unnerving. "Why, it is lovely to see my only son as always," she said, coming to me and kissing both cheeks. I repeated the gesture on hers as she came close because social etiquette said so, a muscle jumping in my jaw. I was the only child, at 18 years old, this was my last Reaping year, and yet I couldn't feel more miserable as the only child of possibly one of the richest families in the district.

"We need to leave soon in order to arrive in time for our role in the Reaping," said my father, glaring at me, "Put that figurine down and hop to it!" He barked.

I placed it down with shaking hands, before I grabbed my shoes and headed to the car, wishing I was elsewhere, wishing I was at my job as the maintenance worker in the factory again. I took it because I was so sick of following all the rules and doing everything by my parents command. I was sick of living life like it was some kind of script, that I took a job at the factory. My job was to oil the machines, add more fuel, check that all the parts were working twice a year and let employers know which ones weren't, carry out some of the manual processes of the automated procedures. It was essentially, maintainence in a nutshell. I worked from generator 1-24 in the geothermal section, then the 50 lot of generators in a deeper section. Unknown to many, District 5 was directly over the hotspots, and rare patches of natural geysers and hotsprings in Panem, so it contributed finely to our energy production through the geothermal generators we had. We also had wind, hydro, a whole heap of electricity genderators anyway. And then 20 lots in the smaller underground hydro section.

It was usually empty when I attended to my role in the warehouse. I was trusted to do all of it alone and without any trouble. Which I did. It felt so satisfying to be given freedom for the first time, and to do things alone, unmarked by demanding eyes or commanding that I follow a set of rules. I got to do many things on that job which were probably not in my father's rulebook. In fact, they don't even know I have a job as a maintainence worker. And it felt so alive.

My favourite part though. Was not necessarily the work, but the little business I had building traps. See, the warehouses and generator buildings that housed the generators had one little problem - rats. Rodents. District 5 was fairly man-made, not a lot of natural bushland or animals or anything, but all the houses and buildings were kept just about clean enough that it posed no danger to the rats. Meaning rodents lived freely without predators and without harm from the human aspects either. The only thing we had going for us was that our industries didn't produce enough waste that really increased rodent population so we didn't have to invest in rodent bait, but they were still a problem. Moreso on the factories on the outskirts of the district, which allowed younger and less skilled workers such as myself.

The supervisor had said that it was okay, and the previous maintainence worker had undergone the same problems with the rodents, and to just let them be, though a couple of rat traps here and there didn't hurt. Except I studied the rat traps, and the different ways of making them. The way to get the right timing so that the noose snapped on the most important part of the body, the way to set the trigger so that it was the most inconspicuous thing possible. The way to build the mechanics and dynamics of the trap to trap exactly what it was supposed to do, and do it well. I experimented with a few wires, and dare I say - a few of my twisted forks and knives from my collection found their way into the creative melodies of my traps, and build a couple of my own. Which I had tried and found they worked to great success.

The rats kept coming back in the end, they always did, so there was always an excess to attempt, build and refine the traps on. But even the supervisor had commented on the supreme lack of rats within weeks of my starting, and so it became a thing. A business which I did.

I took a certain pleasure and satisfaction and keen eye to building rat traps which I happened to be quite good at. It helped that I was strong enough to wrench the bits of metal in place sometimes. I was quite strong for my age because I worked out out of boredom as there was nothing really much to do in the house, and also because one of the house rules was to 'look good and presentable at all times' except that translated into being decently jacked up for boys according to my father. I wasn't bulky like some of the careers would be, but I decently had some lean muscle which you could see if I flexed.

The drive to the town hall was very very brief, as our residence was practically next to it. I arrived early and wandered through the crowd that had started gathering but weren't separated off into their age sections yet, to find my one and only friend, Xander, pushing through a sea of girls to get to the guys as I did so.

Although I kept my emotions hidden and barely remember talking to anyone of the opposite sex, for some bizarre reason, girls seemed to have an affinity to me, dubbing me as 'mysterious' or 'attractive'. I found their attention lofty and ridiculous, though I suppose it may have been because I haven't found the one yet, and therefore didn't care enough about any one girl to think too deeply about it. But still, they paid attention to me though I mostly never paid them any attention back.

I found my friend Xander and we greeted each other with a pat on the back and a hug, deciding to wander over to the age section where we were meant to be because we didn't have anyone else to wait for. Despite the girls liking me, boys often weren't sure what to make of me, and therefore didn't warm up to me at school. It was probably a combination of being incredibly silent and lacking in my emotions, even for guys, that I wasn't able to make friends easily, and also being slightly loud and obnoxious, something my father may have conditioned into me, to make up for it. Xander was my one and only friend, partly because he was loud like myself, very friendly and accepting to everyone, and also partly because I wanted to get to know someone that wasn't like me - I didn't want to make a bunch of friends that were all carbon copies of my father in essence, and I put in the time and effort to get to know him. Over the years, it resulted in a strong bond. Xander was pretty much the opposite of me in every single way.

He was a free spirit, very calm, very relaxed and carried a casual easygoingness that was abjectly lacking in me. He was loud and friendly to everyone, able to make friends easily, unbound by society's rules. He had dark skin and brown hair and looked pretty much the opposite of me.

The escort had finished calling the female's name. I didn't know her and didn't care.

He hurried to call the guy's names. I rolled my eyes, wanting it all to be over so I could return home and...what? I wondered. Well, I didn't like home, but I didn't like the Reaping either. I could lift more weights, work out, throw knives or forks at the walls, build more traps, talk to Xander perhaps. Just to any one of the other mundane things I could be doing besides the Reaping. C'mon I thought, get it done and over with.

"JAXS WILLIAMSON" His voice boomed and echoed over the hall.

I kept a poker face as I marched over to the stage, the cameras sweeping their wide glance over me. I didn't even move or flinch a muscle as the escort shook my hand and asked me to repeat my name once for the cameras, doing so in a stone-cold voice and staring right into the glare of the bulb.

Inside I was at first vaguely horrified and annoyed at the sudden onset of attention, and also the brightness of a light directly overhead me which I didn't notice until I moved my head. Then, as I walked up, I reasoned that the Games were a good competition for someone of my boredom and lust for life, and as I was one of the contestants in the older age category, decently fit, worked out, and knew how to throw with good aim and strength knives and forks, and could build my magnificent traps, I was a good contender for it. I thought, as the lights went down at the end of the Reaping and I marched of stage, I _want_, _to win this games._

* * *

**Author's Note: Sorry for the late update! Unfortunately I don't know when I'll be updating again but I hoped you enjoyed this one. Thanks for sticking with me if you've made it this far, and thanks for all the people who submitted the details on the last chapter's author notes that I forgot to ask for in the forms! I loved reading them and am really glad you were able to overlook the fact that I forgot to ask initially and send them to me anyway. I'll write them in, but if you didn't see it or didn't send one in time, I'll have to make up the details for your character! **

**Thanks for reading and please review! **

**-WhymsicalBell**


	7. District 6 Reaping

The End of the World: 32nd Hunger Games SYOT:

Chapter 6 - District 6 Reaping

* * *

**District Six**

**Storm Bolten**

I woke up to the soft light filtering in through the blinds. It was morning here, and the Reaping was today. But it didn't look like anybody else was up yet, I thought, surveying the large girls dormitory that I lived in within the orphanage, then going to the window where I stood on my tippy toes and peered out. The way District 6 - Transportation, was laid out, was that it was a large District, presumably because our trade needed lots of room to build the boats, trains, cars, double or triple decker buses, hangars for planes, and many many more, that the capitol and surrounding Districts around Panem needed.

Unlike what most people thought, transportation didn't just include things like boats, trains or cars. There were so many different types - bikes, motorcycles, unicycles, hoverboards, hovercrafts, blimps, you name it, we have a prototype of it. And within those, there were many minute individual categories where they all neatly fitted and slotted into the bigger category. Whatever minute difference between the brands, whatever meagre difference in the engines of each make-up, District 6 had categorised and put together in order, ready for shipment.

Our District was rather large, it was spread out over flat ground, occupying perhaps some of the largest flatlands of Panem that weren't covered by agriculture or livestock. There were huge towering buildings, looking quite futuristic, perhaps twenty, thirty, stories of the ground. Large hangars for even the biggest planes to be stored in before they were shipped to the capitol. Huge storage facilities of white and blue tiled warehouses rising out of the ground, enough to give even the biggest marina a run for their money, storing a large quantity of ships and the like.

District 6 was filled to the brim with large buildings and connected walkways and twists and turns high up into the sky. The majority of the District actually lived above the ground because the ground was reserved for test runs and practice space for the many modes of transportation we had. There were stringent railway tracks, test roads, fenced off sections, where all the transportation were tested before they were deemed not faulty and therefore ready for shipment. Although there was a large space on the ground, a lot of it was fenced of (District 6 didn't allow any humans to even go remotely near the tracks where the test runs were being done, or in the small man-made pond which mirrored almost every environment found in marine waters within the tiny space) so the actual amount of area where you could step foot in, or humans were allowed to cross, was very little.

Most of the District lived above ground, in the buildings above. The ground floor was considered the first storey of the ground, and many of the shops, schools, central plazas, were within indoor locations and cafeterias within the buildings.

I had to say, after a whole lifetime of living here in District 6, you had to hand it to us, we had pretty good architecture to keep up with all of the building requirements and our buildings were sturdily built, even if it looked a little lopsided and clunky from the outside.

It was also very noisy.

I wrinkled my nose as I watched the planes loop-de-loop across the air outside the window. There were a series of runs and trials every day. Most of the workforce was stationed somewhere in the manufacturing process, but we had a small portion, usually athletically gifted, that became the pilots and sea captains and whatnot, that test drove the vehicles to make sure they worked. It was a limited amount of people, with very stringent background checks and requirements, presumably because although they wanted us to become proficient at making all the different transportations for their daily consumption, they didn't want us to become proficient at _operating_ them, and the minor amount of the population that passed were heavily monitored by peacekeepers every day of their life.

It was very noisy because transport often made a lot of noise, rumbles, cracks of electricity, bangs and creaks as they fixed up the tracks, the roar of an engine or furnace in the distance. District 6 was full of noise, but after some time of living here, it all melded into a sort of consistent noise which you sort of learned to filter into the background. There was the main tracks, a series of train tracks that wound across the District, where trains ran across them to ensure that they worked before they got sent to the capitol. Most of the trains were on autopilot for that track, and so moved on without taking into account the outside environment. If you were on the tracks with a train headed towards you, you were as good as dead.

I watched the busy airplanes loop across the sky, hearing the rumbles and roaring sound through the panes of the window. There were other smaller planes, hang gliders, different aircrafts taking their journey across the sky, twisting and turning like a roller coaster through the sky. Buildings rose up in the distance, their topsy-curvey walkways and builds evident from afar, the scraggly, loopy, mess of architecture evidence through the window. It looked futuristic in a way. None of the other districts from what we saw on television looked remotely like this.

And because of the nature of our District, a lot of casualties occurred from transport accidents, or accidents somewhere along the manufacturing process. It was harder to patch up an accident in the manufacturing process when it involved the wings of two planes, engines the size of a house, and tram components the weight of ten elephants to put it simply. Which was what lead to there being an abundance of orphanages about the District, I thought, stepping away from the window and watching the quiet rise and fall of my sleeping comrades in the girls dormitory.

Since a lot of casualties occurred in the process, people dying in the manufacturing process, the testing process, people getting squashed on the tracks, even falling from windows and onto tracks was an alarmingly high cause of death a few years ago before the mayor decided to step in and give speeches on the importance of 'watching your step' and 'preserving the manpower of the labour force', there were a lot of orphaned children in District 6. Although parents would be nice, for a fair amount of us, the reality was just growing up by yourself or your siblings, and fending only for each other.

There were two official orphanages spread out about the District, even more if you counted some of the aunts or uncles who were unfortunately shouldered with the burden of taking in the offspring to their dead siblings, or the gangs that formed between groups of orphaned children.

Our parents left us when I was 6 and he was 11, and we ended up in one of the best orphanages of the District. They didn't die when we got put in the orphanage. Instead they went to jail, and they weren't released for...well I was 12 and he was 17, so for at least 6 years they weren't released.

Try as I might, I don't remember too much of life before the orphanage. Everything was all sort of blurry and dreary then, and when I tried to recall images of our parents, it just came up blank, fragments of a past I couldn't remember, a world that seemed miles and miles and universes away from the current. Another life.

My brother didn't speak too much of 'those times', preferring not to. He was older than I when it happened, so I supposed he knew more. But I never pressed him about it. People needed their space with their thoughts and their secrets, I supposed.

So I didn't have much recollection of that life. Just a vague notion that we were poor to begin with, and our parents wanted better, though I didn't know if it was memory or a notion my brother put in my head from the brief times he spoke of it. But apparently our parents were so poor and starved of what - money? food? hope? that they hitched a ride to the nearest motor storage facility and stole a car.

It wasn't just any car. It was a luxury car. The one which the capitol had touted as the number one car that one of the highest netziens in power drove, and had been marketed as a luxury brand. There was a huge fuss over it, and they had raised a little over 1500 pre-orders for it already.

It was pricey.

A car with an expensive label on it's head. More than that it was worth, one would say. If you got your hands on it, and sold it - to another factory within the District who would then sell it to the retailer that shipped it to the capitol, broke apart the parts and resold them to factories around, as some of the metals in the components were rare and valuable, you could make a hefty buck or too.

But they were caught.

Again. I don't remember what happened to much. Just one day our parents bid goodbye, after we had our evening meals and tucked ourselves into bed, the next minute it was 6am, the police were bursting down the doors and demanded each of us to go to custody for interviews and assessments to determine whether we were a 'political threat' and whether this theft was common burglary or perhaps a political message to undermine the capitol in any way - disrupting the sale of one of the most influential cars, which were to be shipped to the capitol in the following day.

I don't remember much of it. I was little, my brother said they had been easy on me, especially since I had a quiet nature usually, so after seeing my quiet and non eruptive nature, they seemed to determine that if there was any intel, I didn't have it, and so the rest of the interrogation had been relatively easy. I wasn't sure what it was like for my brother, that part I didn't ask him much about and we didn't talk about it much, not wanting to dwelve any deeper into the past, and because I knew it was painful for him. Possibly more than what I could have imagined.

But I didn't remember too much after that, except afterwards our parents were thrown into jail to be safe. We weren't given much information on their release dates or the exact sentence they had been jailed for. But we were swept up and put in the town's best orphanage. They sold our house and put that money towards the orphanage, where my brother and I lived for the past 6 years.

This was my home.

The world of having a mother and father was far far behind me. I barely remembered their faces, nor their words and what it was like.

This, was my home. The orphanage that I had grown up in for most of my life. The faces of all my peers, none of whom I got along with too well, preferring to keep myself to myself, and the school lessons that were conducted by volunteer teachers within the walls of the orphanage, the little moments of struggle or hardship we went through at times, the feeling of being alone and having yourself and only yourself to rely on.

That, was my reality.

Living in an orphanage wasn't terrible. Especially as it was one of the best, we did struggle sometimes as District 6 generally wasn't very well of, but no one was dying from primitive medical care, or no one was actually bowling over and dying due to starvation. But it was a patchy existence. In the orphanage there was an air of 'you're on your own' and 'everyone for yourselves'. People rarely spoke about their past, how their parents died, how you got into the situation in the first place, except with siblings. You didn't show emotion, you just kept yourself to yourself, tried to stay out of trouble, and get through life before you could graduate school and get a job in the factories, which would give you enough income to get out of the orphanage. And hopefully never turn back to this miserable place.

Most of the people in the orphanage weren't so overtly hostile or competitive for food or scraps, and scuffles didn't turn too violent and nasty. Though we were the lucky ones.

Some of the other orphaned children whose parents didn't leave enough dough in the bank somehow, to get them into an official orphanage, just formed gangs where they lived in an abandoned part of the District's buildings, or a public place like a skateboard park, or by the dumpsters, which they marked as 'their territory' and guarded zealously at night. They would elect a clear leader, defender, attacker, whatever, within their gangs and each would be assigned to a marked role. Often the defenders or attackers to the gangs would be huge, tall, heavily muscled and wearing bracelets with bits of metal scraps they had scavenged from around the District pushed through sturdily, creating a sort of choker necklace or bracelet which you wouldn't want to meet the wrong end of.

It was tough. There wasn't a lot of talking in District 6, especially outside. Often gangs traveled in groups, hitching a ride on some of the transportation autoruns that were going on to get from one place to the other, having confrontations and fights which resulted in a clear winner and loser. Hostilities grew sky high, hackles raised all around, it could be nasty and vicious, but that was just District 6. The only one where the inhabitants turned in on themselves and formed gangs I supposed.

I was pulled out of my pensive thoughts and reflection about the District on the Reaping day, by the sounds and shouts of the children getting up. When one person awoke, and had started getting dressed and the like, the noise and commotion was too much and pulled everyone else awake. So soon everyone was up and quickly throwing on clothes and whatnot. We had to look nice for the Reaping, and the orphanage had provided the girls with a selection of dresses and the like which the matrons placed in the centre of the room during the night, and everyone fought and tussled over them.

The dormitories had been split up into two groups, male and female. Each gendered dormitory housing 2 sections, the babies to twelve year olds, and the thirteen to eighteen year olds. But since there were too many numbers, I got bumped up into the thirteen to eighteen year olds, even though I was only twelve this year.

I was the smallest girl in the dormitory, the most friendless, and the one everyone loved to dunk on. I watched as some of the older girls fought and scrabbled to get their dresses. Some of them were too big and wouldn't have fit me anyway, but I tried desperately to paw through the collection and find something worth wearing. My fingers found a faded green dress, with puffy sleeves and a nice bell bottom. It was pretty, I thought. I reached out for it, some of the other girls were leaving the dormitory to snag as much breakfast as possible before the Reaping I supposed, it was getting close to the time. The Reapings were staggered between thirty minutes to an hour apart, so you could watch them in order. Though none of the Districts were able to watch the Reapings in the other districts until afterwards when they were replayed on tv. The only people who could really watch them in order, live as they happened, were the people in the capitol. Ours was closer to lunch, but since we had to get ready and prepared, the orphanage didn't want us to turn up to the Reaping and have our first sustenance for the day after it was all over, so we had breakfast first.

I was getting ready to slip on the dress when.

"Oi, give it up Storm," spat one of the girls.

I didn't have that many friends because I was quieter and preferred to keep myself to myself, my hobbies being reading and designing things, often slipping in drawings of designs between the pages as a bookmark, but that didn't stop me from getting teased. Realistically, I had no one I could really call a friend, and lots of people took full advantage of that and so I was regularly made fun of by nearly all of the girls, though some were more nasty about it than others.

"You know, no one even likes you," said another girl, grabbing it and wrestling it from my grasp.

_You only say that because you're insecure no one else likes you_, I thought, but was too shy to say out loud, as I reached for another dress. It was faded pink and in an unflattering design, not particularly the best.

"You're just a worthless piece of existence Storm," taunted another girl, "I bet you wish you were dead everyday."

"Everyday," said her friend, "I bet your mother and father wish you were in heaven with them."

"Oh wait," said the girl who snatched her dress, sensing the moment to make a joke, "I bet they don't even want you. I bet when you die and go to heaven, they'll be waiting to send you off to hell because no one in heaven likes you," and so the girls dissolved into a series of snickers and laughter.

I sobered inwardly, but didn't show anything, being shy and quiet unintentionally had the benefit of allowing me to disguise my emotions better during confrontations like these. I didn't take it as badly as some of the other girls who were picked on, but it wasn't nice all the same. I grabbed the last dress in the pile, a horrid orange sundress that was short because it looked ripped and teared in places, and generally looked like a dog ate it up and then barfed it back out.

The other girls laughed over their minute victory, as they grabbed the dresses I wanted and slipped them on jubilantly, flipping their hair over their shoulder, not even bothering to check if anything was out of place in the mirror, before they left the room.

I turned away and hid a tear as I slipped on my dress and caught a brief glimpse of myself in the mirror of the shared bathroom before I would leave.

I was short, skinny, with light skin and blonde hair. I was usually quiet and kept myself to myself. I wasn't half bad at school, but that was also something I kept to myself, and not many people knew. Not many people bothered to ask. I had liked reading and books ever since I was a kid and glad the orphanage had more of a collection than I remembered at home. When I was older I wanted to be a builder, of some kind of car, plane, transportation. I wanted to put the scratchy drawings I made on stolen paper to work, to bring them to life. I wanted to make something of myself in the District, I thought, thinking of the vision of a huge train or car shuttling towards you at uncontrollable speeds that someone on the tracks probably experienced before death proceeded them. I wanted to make something of myself in this District, contribute to the District somehow, before death would finally greet me and put me in the same place as that of the orphans parents.

I headed to the District Reaping, my brother slipping his hand through mine as he did so. He was usually fairly hyper, active, with his attention divided between many things, but also kind and caring; protective, sometimes. Today was one of them.

"The older girls were being mean to you again weren't they?" he asked, as he slipped his hand through mine and we walked across the tracks to the civics building where the Reaping was to take place.

"H-how did you know?" I said, perplexed.

"I saw them laughing over something and one of them was in a green dress as they walked by," he said with a sigh, "the moment I saw I knew. That looked like a dress you would pick out." And he also knew of the environment and the mean tricks they played on everybody.

"It's okay, it happens everyday," I replied, "besides, I'm just glad I'm off the streets and have the orphanage to live in."

"One of these days, I'm going to kill them," he said, suddenly catching the eyes of a tall blonde girl in the distance. I knew who she was immediately by his lovesick swoons in the past.

"You can go, I think she was waiting for you," I said.

He looked at me doubtfully.

"I'll be fine," I reassured him, it was only a walk to the Reaping, listen through a series of boring speeches, the names being drawn, and then the walk back to the orphanage.

He left, and the rest of the time melted away until it got to the names. I scratched at my shoulders, suppressing a shiver, suddenly itchy and cold in this dress in the giant hall. It wouldn't be me. It wouldn't be me. I was 12, which was much too young to be statistically probable. It wouldn't be me, a voice repeated. _It would be scary if it was me_, another voice shot back, but the former drowned out the latter. It wouldn't be me. It's not going to be you. _It's not going to be you. _

The escort's voice flooded over, "STORM BOLTEN," she said.

My world faded to black.

* * *

**District Six**

**Blaze Bolten**

Zoooom. Zip. Nrrooooom. I watched as the shuttlepods and who knows what else dart through the test tunnel right outside the boys dormitory. It happened to be situated close to it that one could almost see the individual nuts, bolts, screws and panels on the transport as it shuddered through.

It was a huge noisy inconvenience though. Just because you could admire technology and the power of transport, didn't mean you couldn't recognise that the noise interference brought the noise level from zero to a hundred and ten percent real quick. When I was mayor, I thought, staring at all the shuttlepods zipping through the tunnel, the planes in the distance, and the lazy scrawl of tracks in the artificial pond where the boats often tested, I wouldn't make the testing tracks _above_ ground, where they were noisy, horribly inconvenient and caused loads of unnecessary civilian deaths. I would put them underground.

The reason why the District put most of them above ground was because the underground was full of storage areas for the transport. Unfortunately, transport had to be big to accommodate many people. Areoplanes, submarines, giant elevator rooms for the capitol even, they were all huge, so the underground space in the District was maxed out as storage facilities and hangars, leaving not much room to conduct the safety tests. And the safety tests had to be done. Any blood spilled of the capitol civilians from unsafe transportation would only come back to spilled blood of our people, from the capitol when they found out.

Even worse, we had to find a way of transporting our transport to the capitol. And that took the form of huge railboats, even bigger areoplanes. Planes to move planes, as they said. Boats to move boats. Though most of the transport, regardless of it's category, was transported on huge freight trains on especially wide tracks. Particularly fragile cargo was airlifted to the capitol through even larger planes. Not only did we have to have jumbo transportation taking up space, we also had to have jumbo storage facilities to store said jumbo transportation.

I often wondered, could it really be the end of the world, if we simply shipped the transport to the capitol in parts, and have a small warehouse or something near the receiving dock in the capitol where they could be easily assembled, and then shipped of to the retailers in the capitol? A lot of these transportations weren't built by making the frame, and then putting the rigid structure of the smaller components on, and then tuning up the details before finishing it and giving it a paint job or whatever other accessories the capitol wanted. Most of the internal parts were made separately, manufactured by different companies and factories even, and then put together at the very last step of the stage, had a paint job and accessories put together, before they had their test run and were sent to the capitol.

Could it be possible to take them apart after their test run (afterall, the test-run would show that all the individual components worked) and ship them to the capitol in three or two easy components, and have someone, a capitolian who had an interest in these things perhaps, on the other end put them together?

It would be highly efficient and save a lot of time and space. We wouldn't have to bother with unnecessarily large giant transportation systems. We could gain a lot of underground space back, at relatively little space taken up in the capitol in order to put them together. We would also need less storage space to store fully formed vehicles until they were ready for shipment. And with the new underground space, we could move a lot, almost all, of the testing underground so it wasn't such a hazard above ground, and maybe bring the District's population a little closer to the earth, and further away from the clouds. Ground floor could actually mean the ground floor again.

Those were just some of the ideas I had for the District should I become mayor.

I've wanted to become mayor ever since I was really little. After seeing all the injustices, and worst of all - the _inaction _and lack of people really having the skill nor motivation to do anything about it, made me want to become the mayor, to actually _enact_ and make changes. I was hyper, and active, and liked doing things as opposed to sitting back and watching them unfold afterall, I wished to be mayor to actually change things.

No one really understood my desire to become mayor, except for my girlfriend. She was also my best friend, and was the person that stuck beside me throughout most of my life.

I didn't have many other friends or special people besides her, because it was hard to find friends in the heavily ganged and self-dependent state of District 6, although I got along with most people. I liked sports, sometimes playing as an extra in a match of basketball between gangs when a game was held. Sports was a common point of interest among many in District 6, even though we had to improvise in order to play them mostly. I was easily able to find common ground with many of my classmates because of it, though people didn't mess with me for another reason - I was hyper, energetic and _unpredictable_. Most people didn't like messing around with an unpredictable person.

The other boys were leaving the dormitory now, their footsteps stomping across the floor as they left in their twos and threes. I glanced at the mirror to check that everything was in place. I was tall, with dark brown hair, blue eyes, I had some muscle and freckles. I was wearing a nice grey vest, white shirt and grey pants for the Reaping. It was more tame than my usual streetwear but this was the Reaping afterall.

Then, I went down to breakfast, and then headed out to find my little sister and walk with her to the Reaping. She was the only person I had when our parents stole that car and got jailed so she was someone I treasured and wanted to look after. Unfortunately though, she wasn't exempt from the usual hardship of District 6. People were incredibly loyal and territorial here, often ganging up on each other and if you weren't in a gang, you were done for. This orphanage bought us some protection by giving us more resources so we didn't have to fight gangs, but I still didn't like the idea of gangs entirely. Even though if we hadn't been allowed a spot in the orphanage I would have probably dragged us into a gang for protection.

Some of the traits of gangs were visible in the Hunger Games. That was one of my hobbies actually, along with reading old fantasy and fiction books, I liked watching old recaps of the Games because the dynamics and the actions tributes took were of interest to me. Some of the 'twists' which came as a surprise to the capitol audience in terms of betrayals or backstabbing later on in the games jumped out obviously to me. A lot of them could be explained in terms of gang terminology, gang dynamics, it was I have to admit, growing up in District 6 maybe gave us a slight edge for the Games if we were ever Reaped. Or maybe it just gave us crazy paranoia...I thought, _wonder which one_.

A couple of girls walked by, giggling and laughing a little. But I recognised the way in which they were laughing, the little snark to their lips and upturned frowns they had once they were done talking, or boasting, about their latest exploits and who had a role in what to each other, it looked more like. Typical. It looked like what gang leaders did after a major confrontation or something, which I recognised.

They were the girls in my sister's dorm. I saw them around the orphanage sometimes. I bet they picked on someone again and played a mean joke I thought, my mind briefly flickering to what would possibly be argued about. Oh, yes, the dresses. I knew that every year the orphanage gave a bunch of dresses to the girls in the room and just dumped them in the middle, almost enacting a mini-Hunger Games as the girls pettily fought and squabbled over a prettier dress. I frowned as I saw a green dress that I knew my sister would've loved which was slightly too small for the girl in question.

It was as clear as day to me when I spoke to her and saw her slightly downcast face, moreso than her usual shyness that day. "The older girls were being mean to you again weren't they?" I said kindly, slipping my arm through hers and taking us across the tracks to head towards the Reaping.

"H-how did you know?" she stammered, obviously affected.

"I saw them laughing over something and one of them was in a green dress as they walked by," I said with a sigh, "the moment I saw I knew. That looked like a dress you would pick out."

"It's okay, it happens everyday," she replied, "besides, I'm just glad I'm off the streets and have the orphanage to live in."

A vein popped and my blood boiled at that. Something about it just didn't seem fair. Just because we were orphans and stuck together, didn't give each other the rights to rip on each other and play mean tricks like that.

"One of these days, I'm going to kill them," I said, my thoughts about enacting vengeance and doing what was right interrupted by the form of my girlfriend, Justice Kragnok walking towards the Reaping as well. She was tall with curly blonde hair, green eyes, and was unusually cool and calm. She had the ability to sense things and shut up or not speak at the right time to avoid confrontations, which was important in the ganged up District, and was astute and gave good insights. She was the girl I would trust with my life. She wasn't an orphan, being from a small and somewhat poor family (like most were) in the District, though she wasn't loyal to them to the point where she thought all orphans were 'dirty' or 'scoundrels' (which was also a bit of a common belief upon the non-orphans as everyone was loyal to themselves mostly) and actually gave people a chance. She was a solidly decent person.

"You can go, I think she was waiting for you," said my sister. I was surprised she noticed but I didn't want her to be alone for her first Reaping.

She looked at me sharply, "I'll be fine," she said boldly. And so, a little comforted, I bade goodbye to her and walked over to my girlfriend, slipping an arm through hers as we headed over to the 17 year old section.

"What do you think would happen if you got reaped?" she asked me, "you know, every year I wonder what our chances are if we were reaped, in our current physical states, at our current moments. I just can't help it, can you?"

"I think, the only solution to that is to start an illegal training centre-" I said to her shocked face.

"Blaaze!" she punched me lightly on the arm, "I thought you were gonna say something like 'that's what basketball is for', or that since you were a fast runner you would be able to outrun the tributes at the bloodbath, or something a little more individual and less..."

"Realistically," I said, "that was probably the answer to the first person who asked themselves how to increase the chances of their District surviving the Hunger Games: start an illegal training centre."

"You've got a point there. But can you ever imagine organising a training centre with all the gang territories and rivalries and refusals to work together?" she said, raising her eyebrows.

"That's what you're good for baby," I said, kissing her lightly, "you're better at sorting things out between people you know."

"There's a limit to what I can do," she said softly, "though given the gangs, that might be a form of training in itself."

"If I did start one," I mused, "that'll be the first line of advertising I'll pass along the gangs. It'll be the most comforting and effective."

We talked a little more about this or that, nothing really, time passes when you're with a loved one, and then the Reaping was close to beginning and we separated into our sections.

I waited as they called the girls names, worrying that my sister was going to be scared it was her and wanting to comfort her once the reaping was over. It was unlikely to be her, I thought. If it is I'll...

"STORM BOLTEN," called the voice of the escort.

The blood disappeared from my face, I jumped slightly, surprising the boys in front of me. This was just...

I watched as the tiny blonde haired girl that had been my closest confident and the closest thing I had to a family since I was 11 stare at the escort in shock. And then her eyes enlarged and my heart leapt as she fell over backwards in a dead faint, luckily the girl behind catching her before her head hit the ground.

"And now for the male tribute..." said the escort. I stared as some girls tried to fan Storm to wake her up and the cameras waited steadily on her, knowing how scared and frightened she would be once she regained consciousness and would see the cameras and become aware of the reality.

"Boatabous Sterylin-"

"I VOLUNTEER," I yelled.

A thousand heads turned to look at me. It didn't really matter. I just wanted to get to Storm.

I marched over to the girls section, causing some gasps from the crowd as usually tributes didn't really cross over the sections, grabbed her (she was just starting to come around and blinked around scaredly as I placed a hand on her collar and lead her through), and marched us both across the stage. Every muscle tense and seizing up as I hated the horrible injustice of her name being called, the thought of her being all alone and scared and underprepared in the arena, of maybe losing the life that was my sister who was my only real family since I was 11.

"And what's your name?" thrilled the escort, blinking at me and pulling an unhappy frown at Storm. The capitol liked drama, but in a way that favoured action for the games. They didn't like fainters because often it meant an uninteresting tribute.

"Blaze Bolten," I told her.

"Blaze BOLTEN," she repeated back, "Watch out! We have a brother and sister duo, who will undoubtably work together like little other District 6 tribute has! They're one to watch out for!"

And then the crowd went wild.

* * *

**Author's Note: I just wanted to say that Storm and Blaze are based of the creators, so they're based of real people. I'm super glad to write them as it's my first time writing characters based of real people, it feels different to writing some of the other tributes, and I'm glad to get this breadth in the characters that I write. I hope I did you guys justice and thanks for lending them to me to write :D **

**Hope you enjoyed this chapter and please review :D **

**-WhymsicalBell**


	8. District 7 Reaping

The End of the World: 32nd Hunger Games SYOT:

Chapter 7 - District 7 Reaping

* * *

**District Seven**

**Friday Ister**

When I woke up my bones were slightly aching, but in a good way. Of course they did, it was the Reaping today, which meant by family gathered around a campfire and sung old folk songs and danced long into the night before we went to bed the night before. We always did it to bring the edge away from the Reaping. My family was incredibly loyal, loving and caring. We were a family of six living near the outskirts of District 7, we were fairly poor but hardworking and my mother and father always believed that hard work and a positive attitude always triumphed luck.

My family was very musical, with my father fashioning instruments out of wood. District 7 covered an incredibly large forest, with many families owning their own acres of land and forest which they grow their own lumbar business (and many did) to sell to the capitol, as well as work in the District organised ones. The poorer you were, the further out from the centre of the District you lived, until the last lived almost on the edges, and if they ventured deep enough into their patch of land, they could eventually see the fence around the District.

We were poor, though not the worst. We had to give up things like soap or cloth a few times in order to keep the wood we would have otherwise sold and make it into an instrument, but once it was done, both my parents swore it was worth it.

We had a violin, a wooden flute, a bass, a piccolo, set of drums and a guitar locked up in the safety of our house. The violin and bass were the hardest instruments for my father to carve, saying the curvature had to be just right in order for the sound to resonate well, and he always spoke of wanting to make a piano, but it was an impossible feat using only wood, and we could not obtain the metal for it easily.

We were very musical. My mother said I learnt how to sing before I could talk, and I loved music with all my life. When I was older, I wanted to be a musician somehow, maybe sing in the choir that sang for all important events, including the Reaping, but I knew it was most likely I would just grow up to become a lumberjack.

The Reaping was not a happy affair for every family, including ours. So we always sang old folk songs and folk dances the night before, as a reminder of the good things in the world. A reminder of us, a happy family who would die for each other. I was slightly sore as I headed of to the bathroom to wash up, but in a good way.

"Friday, we're playing a game," said my little sister Monday as I brushed my teeth. My family consisted of four children, Saturday, my twin brother, Monday my little sister and Thursday my younger brother. We got our names because Saturday and I were born minutes apart on the eve between Friday and Saturday. I heard that in the capitol they had technology which allowed you to tell if a woman was going to give birth to multiples before they were born, but they didn't have that there. And my mother had a difficult labour with us. The village doctor, a few relatives and my father all thought she was going to die when the labour lasted a long time and no one was born, and then I was born on the last hour of Friday, and my brother came not too long after. They were overjoyed that it was twins and immediately relieved that they decided to name us based of the fortunate days we were born - Friday and Saturday. It worked strangely well, people commented how lovely and unique these names were, with even one family reminiscing that they had a great aunt called Tuesday, and it had been a while since they last saw anybody with those types of names. Saturday and I also found it hilarious as kids because it showed how close we were, so when our little siblings were born, they adhered to the same pattern and called them Monday and Thursday.

Saturday and I were both 16, Monday was 14 and Thursday was 11.

"Mm?" I said as I finished and brushed my hair. I was about 5'3 in height, and about 119 pounds, with an athletic build. I had an oval face, large green eyes that I were told were startling in their stare, freckles dotting my face, and shoulder length brown hair which I decided to wear down. My twin brother looked almost identical to me, with the same brown hair, fresh green eyes and freckles, except he was taller.

"It's called, what would you do if you were Reaped," said Monday, "Thursday said he would run off the mines the moment the Games began because he doesn't want us to see him die a horrific death, and it's not worth all the trouble and hardship of trying to win when the Games are so rigged against us, and Saturday said-"

"Don't do that," I said, stepping out of the bathroom and zapping Thursday at the side in between his hips with my hands. He squealed as he jumped and then fell of the bed. "Give everything your all. Try your best. You're in it to win it," I said, slipping on a green shirt, black jacket and jeans for the Reaping. I never liked to lose at games. Games were fun, and an opportunity to play without any real consequences. All games were important because they taught us valuable lessons, and to avoid playing them properly were for losers. In every game I played - dodge ball, musical chairs, tip, I always had to be the winner. I always had to do everything I could to see victory fall in my hands. Tackling someone in order to get the chair, jumping almost sideways to avoid a ball, teeth gritted, eyes on the prize, determined, as I played the game.

Life was like a scale, a see-saw, with the winners and losers perpetually swinging and spinning on the ends. And I knew, that I had to do everything in my power to see victory fall to me. I was competitive yes, and I never liked to lose.

"So what? You'd compete with the careers and try to murder everyone in the bloodbath?" said Saturday, getting up when he realised I was dressed. With a jolt I realised my siblings had been waiting for me to finish getting ready - I had been the most competitive in the games last night so I was the most tired and slept in the latest. We headed out to the living room where we had breakfast, my mother Shayla, and father Orion, were there.

"No," I said, dipping my spoon into the bowl, "That would be a stupid strategy. The careers are obviously more trained than we are, and we would stand no chance by competing straight up. If you reaaaally wanted to win as an outer district," I said, "you would snag the few good items you could from the bloodbath, run and focus on survival until the later days. Where you could fight if you had to." There was a hush on the table as they considered this. It was evidently a good idea.

Until, "I can't imagine you fighting," said Monday.

"Yeah!" said Thursday.

"You're too loyal. You love your friends. You would never backstab an ally," said Monday.

I felt the blood rise to my face, my fists curled up at the thought of that. I didn't like being on the losing side of life, and I didn't like being reminded of situations that suggested I was, or having other people even believe these situations meant I would lose. I hated it when people insulted the ones I loved, or picked a fight with good people who made their way to my heart. But I didn't think it would be a problem for the games.

"Those are people I've known all my life Monday," I said sharply, "I've had a whole lifetime to know them and be friends with them. I would never get close enough to any one person that I would remain loyal even when we're the last two left," I said, "impossible!"

"You're right," said Monday with a sigh, "I'm sorry I said that. I wasn't thinking. You wouldn't make that mistake when you're in the final 8."

"You're forgiven," I said back bluntly, then sighed, thinking of all the deaths and the stupid stupid capitol and how they turned the games against us. They didn't want to see a fair game of who had the best survival skills mixed in with the better combat skills. It was all about show and blitz and glamour with the capitol. They pitted tributes against each other, or pushed tributes towards certain parts of the arena that they had the sense not to go in just for a big showdown. It wasn't a fair game, and the world was turned against those that played a fair game. One could never win with hardwork and a positive attitude at the games. "_If_ I'm even in the final 8," I corrected her darkly.

"We should get going," said her mother, "we woke up late enough and we have a long way to walk to the centre of the District."

As we walked along the big dirt path that wound around our property and would eventually lead to the centre, my mother walked at the front, my father at the back, carrying a large, grey axe which was about half his height with a hefty head. There were no dangerous wildlife near human habitation generally, but still, District 7 was still primarily a forest, and you never know what resided in the forest, so for long journeys like this, and so many numbers in the group, it was better to carry a weapon. Monday and Thursday kept each other company at the back, I could hear the back and forth exchange between them as they walked about nonsensical stuff, fears of the capitol, silly things, dreams for the future, a bit of everything really, with a rising edge of nervousness in their voice that I remembered so bitterly all these years ago.

My brother and I walked along silent, wordless. We had the same conversations when we were first beginning to be Reaped, which I remembered with an aching sigh as I flashed back all these years ago, still remembering the promises of what we would do if we were reaped together. I was incredibly close to my twin brother, we had been close since we were born.

Two and a half hours later we arrived at the District. We had to go to the District's centre, or nearabouts anyway, once every week or two, so I was used to the walk, but even then, a slight sheen of sweat showed through. I hoped none of it would be visible on my clothes.

"You'll have to go to the Reaping," said my mother, kissing all of us. The Reaping was held in the centre of a large clearing, with different stick and rope fences marking the age and gender sections. A wooden stage at the front, giant campfire before it, and a bunch of chairs, lights, and seats laid out for the adults. The mayor and his party were seated at the front, the choir behind them, and the capitolian escort already there.

Since District 7 was rather large, song and whistles carried far longer and louder than feeble shouting ever did. You would be surprised at how deafening a loud forest of trees could be, and how much, they could muffle sound exactly. So most people learnt to sing, though only the poor really needed to resort to that method to communicate as the poorer workers often had to work near the outskirts. Song was something celebrated in the district, hence we had our own choir for the Reaping and special events. They were all adults. I wanted to not only work there once day, but become a musician, someone who made music not out of voice, though I loved that, but also out of instruments. I briefly considered how powerful that would be if everyone could have piccolo's worn around their neck that they used to communicate or something.

"I love each and every one of you," said my mother, hugging us and running her fingers through our hair. She smelt sweet, "they won't reap you, my children. I promise, you'll come back and it'll all be over."

I nodded, a lump in my throat. "I love you too," I said, holding her tight and feeling the odd tear sneak out between my eyelids. Snake.

"Right. It's time for you to go. We'll be waiting here when it's all over," said my mother with a watery smile. My father shared the same sad smile and we all hugged again for another moment, before I headed of to find my friends.

I caught the eye of Wren, my best friend, who happened to be a guy, before he smiled, waved back, and then turned sadly to go to his section. We were roped of my gender. Heron, Yara and Iris were my other friends. Heron was a guy as well so we could never stand together, whilst Yara and Iris and I found each other, grinning for a few moments just at the three of us, before we found the female 16 year old section.

The mayor gave his speech. The deputy and vice deputy also gave a speech. The choir sang and I closed my eyes as the sweet notes flooded over me, savouring it like a sweet, an elusive candy. When I opened them, the escort was on the stage, looking highly out of place in her capitol dress and all. I hated dresses, and could not fathom for the life of me, how one could possibly like them, let alone wearing one like that - it was green, blue and purple and poofed outwards like a giant christmas tree. Christmas, after the war most of the outer districts forgone much of the old novelty traditions and the like that were in Panem before the war, as we didn't enough wealth to celebrate it. And most people were too tired or worn out to either. But the capitol still did. In fact, I'm pretty sure the capitol added new dates and occasions to celebrate after the war. The Hunger Games being one of them.

"And now, the special little sprout that will flourish from District 7 and join the games today!" said the escort, giggling a little and having her voice be all shrill, high and warbly all over the place before she unfolded the paper. I thought she needed singing lessons. "is...FRIDAY ISTER..."

Instantly, heads whipped to me. Cameras found me fairly quickly. I tried to give reassuring smiles to my siblings as I headed to stage. I actually worked a part-time job in the factories to make more money, and had worked closely with an axe chopping down trees for a good two years. I also knew a little bit about edible plants and berries, my family being rather poor we had to grow our own vegetables and fruit at times, and I was sure I could give the other contestants a run for their money as a mostly underestimated outer district. I was pretty sure I must be one of the better tributes for an outer district.

And so I threw my best game-on grin at the cameras, not letting them catch onto any of the nerves or fears swirling underneath. No, the cameras were not going to be seeing that, they were going to see a victor all the way through.

* * *

**District Seven**

**Oak Rooted**

I woke up to the yellow sunlight filtering in through the blinds, almost drawing yellow rays across the room and landing on the floor in bright yellow patches. This suggested the sun was high up in the sky and that it was mid morning. It was probably going to be a sunny day today. I got up. My room was small and brown, with minimal furniture, and in the bed next to me, lay the sleeping figure of my younger brother Spruce, who was 11 this year. I smiled, Spruce was smart and responsible, and often rushed to help with many chores around the house. He was very mature for his age, and able to bear much hardship, but that was bittersweet, I thought, in order for that ability to benefit you, you would have to go through hardship first. He looked gentler while he was sleeping, I thought, before stepping over him and going to the bathroom to wash up and get dressed in my Reaping clothes.

He would have had to learn how to bear hardship well, for our father died when I was 7. I was thirteen now, but Spruce had only been 5 when our father died. I felt like he had to grow up fast after that.

My family were immensely poor, we lived near the edges of the district and did everything we could to survive. We grew an abundance of vegetables and fruits and tried to sell as much as possible in the market every sunday as well as taking on the longest shifts for the work. My father often tried to dig in the ground for pieces of metal, stone, terracotta, from another time, or battle with the bees for a beehive, or even attempt to hit a bird with an axe for dinner. He did about everything he could to help the family not fall to the ground. It wasn't that we would have starved without those efforts. We could have gotten along, but there was always a tired hollow feeling in our bellies and I supposed that was what he felt obliged to correct.

I used to help him a lot, always rushing here and there, wanting to be with him and help him on whatever little thing he did. Gathering items, helping him dig, keeping watch for peacekeepers if he was attempting to hit a bird (he never succeeded however), as we weren't allowed to hunt.

But then one day our District betrayed us. A tree fell and I opened my mouth to scream, to move out of the way, to watch out, there was a tree right behind you coming at you, to run.

But trees didn't listen to people. They didn't bend to the lofty desires of humans, and my eyes were forced closed as the blow of the tree sent a miniature shockwave through the forest. It was loud and reverberated everywhere, almost like an explosion. My ears tingled and hurt, and my senses were on fire as dust and debris flew around me after that.

Turns out it had been pretty loud. The neighbours heard. That day we were hunting for nuts from squirrel holes, so we were in a patch of forest closer to the centre of the town. They came with their medics and their mouths opening and shutting, and their frantic motions, but all was meaningless as I watched them approach the lifeless form of my father.

I was incredibly lucky, they gestured to me. I was very close to the sight, but I wasn't injured. The shockwaves from the tree and being so close, as well as all the dust and debris flowing around had ruined my ear drums and rendered them useless.

I had opened my mouth to scream when I saw the beginning of the tree falling through the forest, and the moment the tree fell, I lost my hearing as well as my voice. I had become a mute ever since then.

I could talk before the tree fell, so I wasn't like one of those deaf people who were born like that, and had never heard their voice, so when they spoke it sounded odd. But I had only my hearing for a short period of my life before it went away, and I didn't talk too much then, being a rather shy and quiet person, so all that quickly faded away. And soon it felt odd to talk. A fear of saying the wrong thing. A feeling that I would better be able to express myself otherwise. It was almost like a physical impediment. I had no idea if what I was doing with my throat resulted in sound or not. So I never wanted to move it at all. Soon, the world of sounds and hearing melted away from me, like it never existed, and I became a full mute.

I swore my sight became stronger however. Colours seemed more brighter, as did shapes. The patterns in nature and life making their way obvious to me. I had a keen eye and could often thread the needle's eye on the first go for my mother, I was able to somehow easily guess how many nuts there were in the jar for the school fete just from one simple glance, I would notice the little rat holes in our house and how exactly, the rats were getting in from the outside.

I relied on my sight for what my hearing lacked.

And that turned to books. I could devour books for hours on end, looking up the words in a dictionary if I didn't understand. I loved reading. I also like exploring, hiking through the woods and finding new spots, a sense of wonderlust and adventure. I was mostly quiet, so these two hobbies were my reprieve and escape into a new world I supposed.

After I became deaf I still went to normal school, but everyone knew I was deaf. That was when I was very young, 7 or so, and everyone knew I had just lost my father. Everyone was just glad it wasn't them, and most people just pitied me, no one ever teased or picked on me, though I blended into the background more than ever. But I didn't mind. I was quiet and liked to keep myself to myself.

I mostly read textbooks instead of listening to the teacher. The education was kind of sparse in District 7, and only brought you up to the bare minimum, so it wasn't hard to follow along. I actually liked the textbooks even better than the teacher because they went into more depth, and had greater examples and brought about the notions they were trying to depict better. A lot of them were about agriculture, or lumber, trees. A lot of the ideas in the textbooks about grafting trees, growing methods, were old and outdated, as well as mixed in with the new in the newer editions. I wanted to put them together and create a system that would revolutionise District 7. Perhaps one which controlled for exactly how tall trees were allowed to get before they were sawed down, and how far apart they were from each other to minimise the chance of them falling. That, I wanted to do. When I grew older, I wanted to design and implement a system that would change the way trees were planted in District 7.

I had finished washing up, and dressed in a fancier grey woolen jacket like thing, with black dress pants. I was short at 5 ft, and skinny at around 100lbs, I had light brown messy hair and olive green eyes, and glasses to correct my long sightedness.

As I headed out to breakfast I brushed my fingers across my brother's shoulder to wake him up so he wouldn't be late. He smiled at me when he awoke. Then, I left to eat the breakfast that my mother, Birch, made. Our Reaping was at lunchtime, but only the very later Districts were able to fit in two meals before the Reaping. Most Districts could only eat breakfast before as just because the Reaping was at lunchtime, didn't mean they were allowed to eat, so breakfast was still the only meal before the Reaping.

Once my brother finished his breakfast, we walked to the District Centre for the Reaping. Most people gathered with their friends in the same age and gender section but I didn't have very many, so I just stood by myself.

It was a sunny day, there was a flurry of activity and excitement in the air as people bustled about. The mayor walked up to the stage and gave his speech, then the deputies, then the choir but it wasn't something I could enjoy, seeing just a group of people open their mouths for about five minutes straight. And then the girl was reaped and the escort called out the guy's name and...

All eyes swivelled on me. One of my school teachers that knew I was deaf pointed at me and motioned to the stage. I felt the blood drain from my face, my hands shake, and everything seemed to flicker as I collected myself and walked to the stage, ready for the impeding doom. Was it me, or did the colours seem suddenly muted, I thought on my walk to the stage.


	9. District 8 Reaping

The End of the World: 32nd Hunger Games SYOT:

Chapter 8 - District 8 Reaping

* * *

**District Eight**

**Cloth Weaver**

The rain tasted crisp and the air taunt, as I stood behind the big garbage bins of District 8 in one of the small cobbled alleyways, watching two girls make a transaction. Over in the distance, the rising sun spoke of a new dawn - the day of the Reaping, how coincidentally - and the overcast clouds did all they could to block out the light. Patches of bright sunlight suddenly making their way through the clouds, but then obscured by a thick channel of grey the next second. It would probs rain soon here in this District. I shivered as a sudden swathe of cloud went in front of the sun, shade falling across everyone in the alleyway, and hoped that it would not rain before the Reaping began. I needed to eat my breakfast in a quiet, dry place.

"You've got the thing right?"

I leaned forward from my sitting position, just putting the slightest bit of my right eye over the edge of the bin, but not enough that my facial profile or body should be visible. A spark of electricity went through my arms, my heart pumped and adrenline was coursing through, as I focused more on the conversation between the two girls. There was Macey, the daughter of one of the best butchers in the bakery. She was well-fed and solidly built, with her hair always adorned in cute little bows and other hair accessories. She had loads of pretty dresses to pick from, I thought, with a lick of my lips as my mind flashed through her outfit choices throughout the past few years that I had kept an eye on. She was pretty, egregious, bubbly, I often overheard her giggling with her friends at school or cackling loudly with a partner over a shared joke if she was out and about in the District. I wanted to be a part of that, but I had never approached them or been included by them, and I didn't get what they were laughing about.

Cabelline was another girl from one of the District's novelty candy shops. District 8 didn't have a lot of stores besides the essentials - butcher's, milk and cheese store, apothecary, grains, and so on, but there had been an old and rickety candy store which had lasted for a long time. Since it had existed for a long time, people still went there if they had a little bit of extra spending money, to buy something nice for someone or a special occasion, and there wasn't much need for another special store. But from what I had seen of the wrinkled old storekeeper when I scavenged in their bins, it was owned by an aging couple who could probably retire soon. Cabelline had zero intentions of taking over the store from what I listened to in school - I believed she wanted to 'get an education' and 'go upwards mobility' or whatever. I didn't know and wasn't too familiar with many of the terms at school. I had no one to discuss it with and just wanted a friend to maybe mull over what these terms meant.

"Yeah, how have you been? It's been so long since we last talked," said Macey, with an upwards tilt of her voice. It sounded so sweet, so nice. I peered out just a bit further. She was smiling and looking warmly at her friend. A stab of envy shot through me as I ducked behind the bins again to avoid detection as Cabelline shifted slightly, I heard a rustling of paper.

"The upstairs renovations are good, Jim's still sick but getting better and Crompton got the award at the Annual Dog Pageants. Annie's finally stopped having her stupid existential crisis and decided to go into management after school. How have things been on your end? Mmm, these cuts look delicious!"

There it was. That stream of information. Exchanged between two people who had the elusive thing called friendship, who would always find each other in the dark, if something broke out, and help each other til the journey's end. I wish I had that. But no one cared to tell anything to me. Hot tears stabbed at my eyes like daggers, I choked back a sob as I tried to keep things under order. There was a slight pause, maybe Macey or Cabelline heard something, but I had been very quiet, now I was gritting my mouth furiously to avoid making any more noises. They continued talking like before.

"I should hope so! My father's prized cuts! And thanks for your sweets," there was a slight pause, "We've never had candied apples like these before. Good thing Annie took the advice from my mother then, she'll do well. And you must show me the photographic film, it's adorable to think a bit of leftover fabric in District 8 could be put to such humorous use!"

"Unbelievable! There's one photo actually, it's on display at the back of the textiles factory but we get to keep a copy too. Come chill after the Reaping and we can see it? And yes, they're something new my dad's making along with the other sweets. He has a love for perfecting his skills-"

"That sounds great. I'll have to ask my mum, she'll probably say yes, and I'll be over in a jifty!"

And so the girls broke apart, fading into giggling laughter as they bid goodbye and I heard footsteps echoing away.

The dirty ashen ground of District 8 came closer to my face, as I slid down the side of the dumpster, a hot watery wetness in my eyes as I hit the ground with an angry clang and felt the sharpness of my knuckles touch the cobblestones. One moment later and I was punching the ground, throwing angry little fists at it, then I stopped, rubbing the bruises and feeling the pain as my eyes clouded over again. Unhappiness tugged at my heart at the two girls parting as tears dribbled down my face.

I was Cloth Weaver, 15 years old, and I never had a friend in my life. Never ever. I liked to watch other people, and friends do friendly things, whilst cursing the fact that I never had any of my own. It hurt, again and again, but I always did. Watching with fevered glances, that nice bit of sweetness that only they could get, and I couldn't, and wishing life was different. I wanted friends, an opportunity to make friends. A growing buzz and urge to make new friends.

I stopped crying, gathered up my breakfast, with was some goat's cheese I had picked up from the bins outside the store which traded in dairy products - milk and cheese. I think their family owned some goats or something, not District 8's main trade (that was District 10 - livestock) but enough so that District 8 had some of their own milk and cheese as opposed to just those supplied by the capitol. I cried a lot. It was something that was comforting, I could sink into tears again and again, for many nights on end, and just feel comforted in the fact that I was getting out my emotions. Not that it did anything to help actually solve my problems but...there was nothing like a good cry. I also had a stray bit of bread, some fish I scavenged and an old biscuit or two.

I ran away to my hiding place to eat it.

I was three when my parents got killed in an accident when they decided to bulldoze some old buildings to build a new one, I was went to an orphanage, but it was run down. Leaking roof, rickety stairs, not nearly enough volunteers. I spent a lot of my time on the streets, I was able to get more food that way. I loved it.

But my clothes were often dirty and messy and my hair tattered from the streets, and that was perhaps one of the reasons why I couldn't get friends, the matron at the orphanage had said one odd night when they caught me crying. But I simply said that why I was crying was none of their business and to leave me alone.

The streets had kinder fruit and offerings than the orphanage did. You would be surprised by what you could pick up from the garbage dumps and people's trash if you tried. And when I grew up, I wanted to work on the streets. It would be easy. I'd just leave the orphanage and sleep somewhere tucked away in the city streets or buildings, which I did anyway on some nights, and scavenge foods and well as trade in my labour at the factory to make money. Plenty of people went into factory work straight after they graduated. There were always places for it, and it paid decently, more than what you could get at the orphanage anyway. The smart ones or whatever, went onto 'further education' but that was beyond me.

I finished my breakfast. Time to go to the Reaping then. I could go to the orphanage and change, but I never liked it. The other kids all hugged their friends and talked about what would happen if they were Reaped and over things like that. I just felt so alien watching them, and not being involved. It wasn't something I liked.

I had been a lone wolf since I was little. There was just something comforting about heading out by yourself, with only yourself to watch out for, and doing whatever you wanted. But over time, that turned to sadness at the things that other people had which I didn't - friendship being one of them. I was also a tiny bit loud, I did speak my mind and was honest - brutally so - at times.

Without another thought I turned up at the Reaping. It was held in the civics hall, the usual white hall of District 8 where weddings and marriages and these sort of things were held, was polished clean. The walls were clean white marble, the ceiling a fascinating swirl of colours in the marble, the floor was polished so that the reflection of the lights could be seen and clicked as you walked. There was rows upon rows of white chairs set out, yes, we sat here in District 8's Reaping, tapestries of embroidery and thread hung thick and heavy at the sides of the hall, there were already some people there but not a lot.

I picked out a spot and sat down. There was a camera sort of near by, it was moving as it captured the entire hall, coming to a stop near where I was and landing on me. I waved at it, it quickly lifted up it's lens and panned away. I frowned, dejected, as I chewed on a bit of hair and waited for the Reaping to begin. I was about 5' 4", skinny, with dark brown hair and olive green eyes.

More and more people filled in. Slowly, the Reaping Hall became trickled with people so that it came from comfortably full to almost overpacked and flowing. District 8 had quite a large population. And when all the faces were in, the district's mayor came up to give the speech, so did several other important people, the escort.

Then, when they got to the Reaping, I knew what I had to do.

I had no friends.

I have no one to care for me.

My parents were dead. And I was left to suffer life on an orphanage and picking in the streets.

There was nothing left for me in this life, everything all melded into a boring sort of ho-hum.

I wanted to volunteer in the Hunger Games to make new friends. I wanted to volunteer to get attention, start afresh, make a new name for myself, and maybe come back a changed person. A better life. Afterall, it's not like I have anything to lose if I didn't make it, and it offered the opportunity for something different.

I had been lowkey planning this since I was 9 and first saw the Hunger Games playing out on the big screens, watching from behind the bins of a dumpster.

The escort got to the girls. Some innocent person's name was called.

I stood up and said "I VOLUNTEER".

There was some screams and shrieks as people turned around and saw me. I flashed an annoyed grimace - _what_ \- I thought, as I stood up tall and proud and made by way to the stage, trying to ignore the tremble in my legs. All I wanted at the moment, was friends, people to pay attention to me for the first time, good food, a new life, a new chance, everything.

And all that hung on the games.

* * *

**District Eight**

**Blue Cotton**

I woke up early and snuck outside to the shed before anyone could say anything. My hands running over metals and weapons I had been using since I was 11 and began to grab at a few of them, picking them randomly to hone an even variety of skills.

My name was Blue Cotton, I'm seventeen years old this year, and I come from District Eight. District Eight was the textiles district, which is rubbish because it means we're already fairly weak in the physical department, not having much exercise in our day to day lives and mostly spending it on a sedentary lifestyle inside factories. A lot of the men worked in factories too, it wasn't just for women but there were also management and maintenance jobs, shopkeeping jobs, as well as some political work done within the mayor and district council's roles, so there was enough professions for anyone who found themselves not fitting the textiles factory work. But no one was really equipped for the games.

We were half starved, as with all Districts, ill-equipped, and even lacking in capitol sponsors because everyone thought our District was terrible.

I had grown up watching all of our district's tributes be slaughtered on the big screens year by year.

I had grown up watching every innocent, wide-eyed member of us come to their fate at death's doors this year, and the year after the next.

All with a growing sense of injustice inside me that didn't dare to hide.

Why didn't we do anything about it? Why didn't we try to stop this from happening? Develop a way to survive? Why didn't anybody train for the Games. That was the most realistic strategy for making it through alive if you happened to be Reaped one year.

Eleven years, I had watched the Games unfold on the big screen, as I grew from a young boy to adolescent, all with a growing sense of injustice and anger. Eleven years, I had watched the tragedies take place, all with a defiant flame inside of me which was lunging and jumping - livid - to do something about it.

I was eleven when I first started training for the Games. Having watched and paid close attention to the Games, more than any ordinary person did, and noted that the usual victors and winners of the Games - the people from the career districts - got that way because of fighting skills. The ability to kill, fight, maim in close combat, and bring home the prize. That was the real bottleneck in ability, in determining the outcome of the Games, I thought. The real confrontation. If you couldn't fight, you couldn't win. Year after year I saw brutal careers after brutal careers win at the Games and bring home the crown. You know what would help a lot of ordinary people have a chance to survive in the Games? Training to kill and maim, training to get used to basic weapons and be decent at them.

And so I started.

I started to work out when I was eleven, which was fairly easy as there were always bars or door frames or some sort of structure, to pull ups or step ups and downs and the like around District 8. I did push ups, I jogged every morning, and other things. I started to become stronger, and practiced with weapons I made from things around the District. Fishing rods from little hooks detached from sowing machines after they became broken and useless. A lasso with a bit of rope and something sharp at the end. I got used to swinging it around fast, throwing it around somebody's waist (I used a punching bag I saved up money for) and hauling them in, I knew the angle to throw and aim it at in order to stab someone in the neck with the sharp point of the lasso. A knife of course. I knew how to throw knives, how to cut and slash with them. Hand-to-hand combat with knives. I tried fighting with a wooden stick or pole, it was surprising useful for parring and defence, and even moreso for offense, among other things here and there.

I had trained a lot and really liked it. And this year, I decided it was the year to volunteer. I wanted to show the capitol that the outer Districts didn't have to be useless. I wanted to show them that anybody could win at the Games if they trained hard enough and practiced sufficiently with weapons. The careers weren't genetically gifted. They just trained for the Games. And training was something everyone could do.

When I won them, I thought, I would come back and teach everyone that you didn't have to watch the Games in fear every year. You could train for them and stand a good chance of winning. It was how the careers did it, and it was how we could fight against our fears and become stronger.

I was done practicing. Wiping sweat and dust from my face, I gathered up the weapons again and placed them back in the old shed. I had built punching bags and metal plated sheets which could stand more of a beating from weapons than the usual construction materials of shed walls, so the shed and the little bit of backyard in my otherwise squat house near the edge of the District served pretty well as a makeshift training centre. I narrowed my eyes. If only I could expand it.

As I got out, I headed upstairs to shower, change into my Reaping clothes and eat breakfast.

I was tall at 5'11" and quite muscular, with medium length brown hair I often styled in a quiff or a side fringe, and light blue eyes. The other notable features I had were a sharp jawline and a plump bottom lip. I turned to glance at myself in the mirror. Not bad, I thought, definitely handsome enough to get some sponsors.

Then I changed and headed down to breakfast. My parents weren't well of, but we weren't poor either. They knew what I was doing in the shed and my training regime as well as plans to volunteer. I had sensed they were oddly discomforted about it and didn't want me to go ahead and do it, but they often kept quiet around me, as if not to plunder my dreams, letting me go my own way. They regarded me with wide eyes as I went down this morning.

I tried to console them, feeling my heart break in the process. I never ever wanted to see my loved ones hurt, and I would get anybody who dared inflict harm on them. "I'll come back," I said, "I've trained six years for this. I'm in tip-top physical condition of my life. I'm ready for it. I'm going to last a long time."

My father stared at me, "I would be inclined to think, if it not were for your enthusiasm, that there is a reckless component to the decision," he said.

"You would do us the greatest service if you didn't volunteer honey," said my mother, running her fingers through my hair the way she used to when I was a young boy. My eyes watered slightly but I didn't want to admit to it, I gently took her hand and placed it on her chest, "Mother," I informed her, "don't worry. I'll come back, I promise. I just have to do this to prove to my District you don't need to be careers to win." Images of scared people, terrified people with hungry faces after watching the latest Games, the abstract horrors that took place and wishing for something better. The helplessness, of watching tributes dying, half-starved, drowned in coursing waters, fought to the death, and the fear on the helpless innocent faces, not knowing what would happen next, and knowing, that someday this hell may be pushed onto them.

I wanted to show them different.

I wanted to show them hope.

I wanted to show them survival.

I wanted to show them we could survive, and we could make it. Regardless of our district. I wanted to be the first to clear the path and ignite the flame that would lead others through. I just _had to_. It was something I had my mind dead set on.

"I promise. I'll come back and see you again. We'll go down to the river on a good day like how we all used to," I said, ruffling the hair of my little brother Azul. He was six, my parents had him shortly after I announced I would begin training for the Games. I didn't like to think about what that might meant. He got up from his spot on the table and ran towards me. We were close and so far I had mostly played fight with him and humoured him through school a little bit, telling him the things to watch out for and best things there was about school that he should do once he began. I hadn't begun training him for the Games yet, though I had certainly planned to let my little brother be prepared, so we didn't have as close of a bond I predicted we would have had I trained him for the Games, but somehow, we were close.

He reached me and threw his arms around my middle, digging his head into my stomach, hugging me. His eyes were turned away but the sniffles of his nose suggested there was a little water involved in his facial expression. "D-don't go Blue," He said quietly into my stomach, hugging me all the more tighter. I ruffled his hair, stiffening a sob that was rising up. I was extremely loyal to the people I loved, and incredibly protective over them too. I didn't want to not not go, but at the same time...I wanted to see my vision come true and prove to the world District 8 can win at a Hunger Games too. "I'll come back," I said, "How about we play a game? It's called count down the days I would return. There's 30 days in a month. The Hunger Games cannot possibly last more than 3 months, it never did, even at it's longest. But just to be safe, let's play a game called 100 days. You start with 100 and each day you count down until the day I come back. You are guaranteed that before 100 days, you'll have your big brother back and ready to look after you and protect you again," I said, grabbing his chin and making him look up at me, "it's a game between the two of us."

He nodded somberly, "I will!" he said, suddenly full of determination, "I will! I will! I will! I'll even scratch it in the old apple tree in the yard. Every day! I'll miss you. C-come back-"

Then we had to go. My father worked as the sound technician for our District's media. Yes, the cameras and other expensive equipment were often bought by the capitol's own media crew, who journeyed here just for the event. But some of the equipment needed to be synced up to our District's widescreen, our channels, our wifi, among other things, and the media crew couldn't just function as a team of outsiders in the District.

Much like how most districts had an escort guide them through the capitol, another job found in many districts, was almost like an escort to guide them through the District. Often, although the majority of the media and technology team were from the capitol, there would be a few district workers who were good in the media technology field that helped them rig everything up and guided them around the district's technology and how to connect them. They were a little known, but very important link in the chain. And my father had been one of them, so we always needed to get to the Reaping early.

I headed there where I met my friends.

Wool Jeans was a tall, rather skinny boy a few inches above my height, with curly black hair, brown skin, and bright blue eyes. He could be understanding and supportive, but mostly a huge ball of energy that I could banter with, and somehow playfight with (he was stronger than he looked) and have a swell time together. The memories of us screwing around after school by the river, or playing an impromptu game of kickball by the clearing behind the apothecary on the weekends, or chortling over an inside joke with our other friends in class came back. Times was fun with him.

We talked a little on the day, not particularly much. He had known of my plans to volunteer for a long time, and every possible thing that could have been said had already been said over the space of several years, repeated slightly so in the increasing months. There was nothing particularly much to add on the day. He didn't want me to volunteer, though he respected my determination to do it and see it through, and he said that somewhere, in his hearts of hearts, he held hope that his friend was coming back, and that he would be rooting and praying for me every step of the way.

Everything was sweet and nice between us, because there was nothing heavy to discuss and we got along like old times with our usual banter. Then Wool glimpsed some other friends of his, as well as a gaggle of girls he was beginning to get friendly with at school, and we bade goodbye before I watched my oldest and best friend wander of with them. Then I turned and was met face to face with a familiar, tan skinned, tall male with brown hair and grey-blue eyes that had captured me from day one. Always will. I could lose myself in those enchanting grey-blue eyes for years and years.

"Blue. You look great in our Reaping costume," he said, a tentative smile as he inched closer. We were close, uncomfortably close. I could almost feel his breath on mine, if I stood forward just about five centimetres more, I would practically be able to place my lips on his, and whatever else that would happen. I could feel a bit of a blush begin, as I glanced up at him, trying not to let it show.

"Yeah," everything felt clunky and awkward off my tongue when I was around him.

It always did ever since we broke up.

We used to be the closest ever, starting of as best friends and then one day realising there was more to friendship between the two of us. Wide eyes, curious glances, as we realised what it could lead to. A confession one night at midnight when we had snuck away from our families and confessed our love to each other. Talking about when we realised we liked each other, the shared memories and dreams we had for the future. Our future, away from this dark and murky and sick and cruel world. I didn't want to kill for the Games, not really. Even though it seemed an inevitability of training, and somehow, somewhere among the murky depths of my non-stop enthusiasm and campaigning that winning the Hunger Games was the only way to right the twisted reality I found myself in, as I observed the cruel fates to befall my comrades in the District, as all but an innocent young boy, finding myself lost in this world and watching the events on the big screen, somehow a part of me felt that killing was dead-set wrong. The fact that one had to resort to this and even _condoning _it, and teaching others to kill as well, in order to pave a way to win the Games. Some part of it felt wrong, wrong, wrong, and a part of me felt a deep dark sort of hopelessness at what this said about our society that I could never quite express with anybody. Wool didn't get it. Azul was nowhere close. My parents didn't get it. My other friends didn't really seem like they would understand.

All but Wire did. Wire had understood my dreams and the secret reality that had existed inside my mind. He made my world a better place and we had a relationship like no one else, a connection no one would understand.

But then we broke up.

It was quite a stupid reason really. We had all seen it, the signs had been there, the minute cracks we had agreed on. Not wanting to go over it again, refresh the hurt, we brushed over it with and mutually decided it was over and done with for good, and that we were better of not in a romantic relationship with each other, but the true reasons still haunt me. I choose not to look at the breakup too much.

The breakup was solid. Neither of us wanted anything akin to the relationship again. Not without fixing the underlying problems. Different views on society to some level, different views about life and what was the right way to approach things. Just different.

I had lost a boyfriend and regained a bestfriend. Bestfriends was all that we were.

He's just an attractive looking, oh so sweet, cinnamon roll that you absolutely have no romantic relations with after the fight and never would because we both agreed, and he's going to someday find a nice individual whoever they are, that accepts and loves him in a way you cannot, and you're just friends, best friends who would continue to support each other through life because that's what you did but.

There was an underlying current of sexual tension that ran between things.

Always.

"Ready for your special day? I've never lost faith in you."

"I've never lost your ability to not lose faith in me," I joked, a watery grin making it's way to my eyes. People had forwarded in whilst I was reflecting and soon the hall was crowded and the procedures trickled over with and the escort getting ready to call.

"Oh really? Because, I've been thinking...if you could come back...I'm willing to have another chance with you."

My eyes shot big. Just at the moment the escort called the male tribute's name. Without thinking, I blurted out "I VOLUNTEER" and then watched the crowd go live and the cameras go up as I was suddenly flashed upon the widescreen. I guess being tall made you stand out.

I walked to the stage, feeling a little weak at the knees, though I tried to stand up tall and straight and show the world I was something to be feared.

_I really do hope I get back_.

A part of me thought, as I watched the crowd from the Reaping stage. There's just too much stake here. My reputation...life's dreams...a possible reignition of a relationship with an ex-boyfriend...I will do everything in my power to win, even involving teaming up with the careers, I thought, as the crowd went wild and the escort giggled in excitement next to my ear.

* * *

**Author's Note: Thanks for reading and sticking with the story so far! I know I say that in every chapter, but I really do mean it and it means a lot to me. I have one question of interest I wanna ask this chapter - and that is, what do you think Blue's relationship/confrontation with Cloth would be? Do you reckon they'd get along or nah? Do you think Cloth's attempts at making new friends would work well with Blue or better luck elsewhere? And that's the only question I have to ask for this chapter. Otherwise, review away anything you wish to comment about for this chappie :D**

**Also, I'm having a little bit of trouble with one of the tributes. I'm 1000 percent sure it's not the creator's fault or intentional AT ALL, things happen all the time, but I haven't got anything for one of the reserved tributes (District 11 male) and I would highly like to have all my tributes in by now. I'll definitely chase it up with the creator but in case things don't work out (and it's NOT their fault, AT ALL, sometimes life gets busy and we can't submit to syots we want to. It happens all the time and I could easily imagine it happening to me), could I get a backup tribute from someone? Same rules as always - max 5 tributes per person, so if you've already submitted 5 for this syot, I'm going to have to say no to another tribute. But if anyone wants to submit a backup District 11 male tribute pls fill out this form:**

**Dw about it, it's done! :) **

**-WhymsicalBell**


	10. District 9 Reaping

The End of the World: 32nd Hunger Games SYOT:

Chapter 9 - District 9 Reaping

* * *

**District Nine**

**Poppy Valentin**

I woke up in the morning with the soft light trickling through the curtains of my room, a feeling of musk and dust was evident in my room, just like how it seemed to permeate through all of District 9 and I couldn't get it out of my room, the sheets, my hair, even with excessive scrubbing and washing. But hey, _at least no factory work_, I thought, peeling of the covers and going to the bathroom to wash up and change.

Unlike some of the other Districts, all our factories were closed for the entirety of Reaping day. It was because smaller districts whose factories were for the sole production of manufacturing generally had smaller and less complicated work compared to ours - The Grain District, with our huge grinding mashers that used tonnes of power in order to grind industrial sized quantities of wheat, so they were able to restart operations again with a few workers missing, or after a late morning. Ours required a lot of constant maintenance and work to run, so when it was down, it was down for the entire day.

_That's something serendipitous_, I thought, my hands flickering to my hands as I brushed my teeth. The faint pink lines coming up. The newer ones were still fresh and hadn't begun to turn to white, but on the back of my hand, where I got my first scar, the spidery, almost opaque white line loomed out at me from the pale colour of my hands. Once you knew it was there, it was fairly obvious.

I had gotten them from working with the machines. District 9's labour was split up into 2 categories, 3 if you counted the mayor and council, who neither worked on the wheatfields or with the machinery. But generally people either slaved away at the wheatfields, hauling huge crops across town in order to bring them to the processing machines. Some parts of the district harvested by hand, those methods had always been passed down in case some of the few pieces of machinery we had to make harvesting easier had broke down or disappeared one day. They were supplied to us by the capital, we just had enough to increase our grain production to a point they were happy with, but none more. Most people used their hands in the wheatfields, carrying hauls, harvesting with scythes, knives, anything bladed and sharp. It was mostly men's work, though some women did it too if they were strong enough, as it suited them better.

The factory work was managing the machines, the minute small settings, details and adjustments workers needed to do to the machines that we did. We had a couple of higher up engineers or more technically skilled people who programmed the machines or diagnosed and fixed them if there was something wrong. Although there were some guys in the factory, there were more women there as generally it was an easier life. The machines were rather old and inefficient however, so it wasn't rare to accidentally get injured with them. Particularly when you first started and had little idea of how everything worked, and the supervisor generally didn't wish to spend too long on instructing, there being a huge order of wheat everyday. I guess grains was a huge staple in many of the capital's dishes, I had thought when I was 9 and realised we were receiving orders all year round.

To combat the problem of wheat being a seasonal crop, there were some huge warehouses with artificial lights and the like where we tried to do everything we could to emulate summer during the winter. We still got a crop, enough to please the capital and there was work all year around, but there was a bit of a drop during the winters. We had small storage facilities too, but it was never enough to hoard a whole season's worth of crop for the winter, and we lacked the refrigeration and preservation techniques the the capitol had in every one of their kitchens, us barely even having the machinery to harvest crops without manpower and the capitol not particularly yielding to passing off fancy pieces of equipment in our hands. More or less, we still grew and harvested all year around and the crop exported more or less dropped during the winter.

I stared in the mirror once I was done brushing my teeth, and began doing my hair. I had red hair, porcelain white skin, and light green eyes. A rarity in a district where everyone was fairly tanned, but, as my mother who had the same amber hair and green eyes said, you wear your looks with pride. Hold your head up and never be ashamed of the way you were born.

After I fixed my hair and wore my Reaping clothes, I headed downstairs for breakfast. My father was already there, sitting at the table with a half-finished bowl of porridge. He greeted me with the barest of grunts, no eye contact, as he pushed a lukewarm bowl of porridge towards me. Another bowl of half warm food told me my older brother hadn't come down at all. Makes sense, this was his 19th year afterall, the first year he was out of the Reaping, he would want to sleep in, having had to get up and rush to make sure everything was ready for the past 6 years.

"Thank you," I said, taking it and nodding at my father. He barely grunted, not saying much, but then took a folded handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbed at the wrinkled crevices of his eyes for a bit, before taking solace in his meal and setting to steadily slurping down his morning meal.

It was like a chasm of distance had opened up since my mother died. My mother, who was fun, friendly, loving and caring and always opened up the houses' doors and windows to the springtime air when that season came about, getting flowers from the one florist in town and decorating the inside with it. Red snapdragons with the slightest yellow lines around their centre to light up the bathroom. Purple and orange flowers in bunches for the living room. A row of tiny yellow plants just in the windowsill underneath the kitchen. And bunches of small flowers with the faintest petals and most vibrant red hue, that my mother said were poppies, the flower I was named for, just for my room.

It was her that got me a job in the factory. In District 9 your job was fairly set as after you learned the skill set of one job, and it varied steeply between on the wheatfields and inside the factories, no one was bothered to train you up again for another job as your previous job lost labour in every hour that you weren't working. So which job you worked first was vital in determining where you were going to be placed for the rest of your existence in this District. Most people, spurred by hunger, lack of money and supplies, worked at the first job they could find, without much thought on where it was going to place them.

My mother didn't want me to work in the wheatfields. There were some common problems everyone experienced after a while - aching backs, joint pain, even some eye sight problems from the harsh glare of the summer sun reflected tenfold from each stalk of the shiny yellow wheat. She campaigned for me to work at the factories too, spoke to some higher ups, she had a way with people, my mother. A kind gentle manner which made people favour her. There wasn't a position, but she opened up one, and I was introduced and welcomed with open arms as I began my stay there.

And then the plague came. A bad one comes every 3-4 years, and quite a lot of people get sick from it. It only affects certain sections of the District before the supervisor calls a quarantine, shuts down the factory and hires the best cleaners to come in and try to remove as much of the germs as possible. It wouldn't affect us, it wouldn't affect us. Everyone thought.

Until it did. I got sick with it too. My mother and I. It was a lot of coughing, phlegm, rising fevers and cold sweats. It was difficult for me, and even more so for my mother - must've been. She died not more than two months after she caught the plague.

I couldn't believe it. Two months and she was gone. Just like that. Two months and the woman who birthed me in the world and nurtured me from when I was little, was gone. Not on the earth anymore. A gaping space left behind that District 9 life attempted to fill up.

My father was distraught. He loved my mother. Undoubtedly. But he was destroyed after she left. I looked like her too. Which was perhaps one of the reasons for the distance between us. Couldn't bare to see someone that looked similar. He was working hard before she died, and still continued working hard afterwards. She had tried easing some of his labour pre-death, but he resisted every time, and afterwards, he worked just as hard. Wanted to give it his all before he reached retirement age I supposed. I was worried he was going to work himself to death in the fields one day, but I knew it wasn't a wise thing to broach with him now. Things were too high, and I supposed he had his own fears of becoming obsolete after retirement, so it wasn't something that was going to result in positive feelings if we had a discussion about it now. I wasn't sure how to fix things, but I just knew now was not the right time.

My brother came down. His dark hair was messy and his dark eyes glowed with mischief, as he grabbed his meal, a spring in his step.

I felt like history was repeating itself.

"Chris - Christopher, you didn't steal from the crop harvest again did you?" I asked, worried. The punishment was sometimes a public flogging if the peacekeepers were feeling like a bit of a show for their ego I realised when I was younger, but generally, the actual punishment was amputation of the offending limb. People had lost hands and arms over burglary. The flogging was just for the peacekeeper and assumed town's amusement, but the actual punishment was much harsher.

And that was pretty much a deathwish here.

"What makes you think that? I told you I didn't think the risk of getting an amputated limb was worth it," asked Chris, frowning at me. We weren't always close but we had grown closer after our mother's death. He cared more about what I was thinking and concerned about now.

"You said you didn't think the risk of getting an amputated limb was worth it. Not that the risk of getting an amputated limb is the baseline punishment. It's like you think it only occurs 50 percent of the time, and the other 50 it's a flogging, and you don't think the risk of getting a hand cut or the like half the time is worth it. And that concerns me, because it's not actually half the time. It's all the time save for the peacekeepers amusement," I said, "and that's just how it is in District 9..."

"I know," a muscle twitched in his jaw, "look I'm sorry. I didn't know that at first," he smiled at me, "because someone smarter didn't tell me. But I know now, and I've promised to stop okay. I promised to stop last time, and I'll still stop now."

I looked him up and down, "you sure?" I asked.

"Positive," he replied.

I still didn't budge, "you know I'm suggesting it for your own good right?" I said, "so you'll be the one suffering the consequences if you don't..."

Chris looked away, a dark look on his face.

I had this way with people, my father, mother and teacher had told me when I was very younger. Since I was kind and sweet to most people, some didn't expect an unwavering line of truth and values and the ability to put two and two together. But nice didn't always mean stupid nor thick, I could be astute sometimes which caught others of guard.

"Alrigh' we better go," said my father, "lots of work today! I've saved the grocery shopping for this day! I'm going to head up to the old man Duke's to buy and carry a lot of the items home! Milk! Cheese! Beef! Meat! Cabbage! A busy day of productive activity it is for me!" he said.

I glanced at my brother. This was him again, trying to preoccupy himself with something since the fields were shut down for the District on today. I had been wondering why our supplies were slowly dwindling when it got closer to the Reaping, and now my suspicions were confirmed.

"Oh, let us come with you," I said, "it's quite nice to take a walk together as a family sometimes."

I didn't want him to go alone. My brother seemed to catch on and quickly slopped down the rest of the meal, before going to change into something decent and so we headed out and talked about little things along the way.

Duke was an old man with short stature, a beer belly and was balding. He owned one of the biggest and most firmly stocked food stores in the town for as long as anyone in District 9 could remember. He received a lot of business by virtue of his efficiency that as much as people had their complaints about him behind his back, no other business could replicate. He was also rather grumpy, which was what the main source of his complaints were, about his interpersonal manner. And the fact that he refused to fix the flickering light in front of his tavern. 'FIX THE DAMN LIGHT' they quarreled. 'HUH? I CAN'T HEAR YA,' he yelled back, and so it remained unfixed, each flicker illuminating his gently smiling face the next time the shopper came in. But yet, they still came back to him. I didn't get the impression he was too well of though. Just doing what he had to survive like any other person.

To most of the town he was known as a bitter and rude man, especially as people often took on an habit of bartering with his prices. There was something about being an old man who ran a food store that seemed to scream 'take free shots at me' towards the town, and everyone took it as a good sign his prices were to be disrespected and they could 'try their luck' at him, sometimes to show off their 'bartering abilities' to girls or the like. Sometimes because they had an angry day and it was time to 'barter and get a good deal out of the generic old guy running a one-man store at the end of the town'.

He was nicer to me because I came in regularly and didn't bother with bartering with the prices. The storeowner of a struggling franchise set them. Obviously to a level that suited his needs. There was no need to bicker and remove that price. Ironically though, sometimes he gave me extra food without paying, because as he put it, he appreciated a kindred soul who didn't see the need to barter at every time. I used to try to reject it every time, until he told me it was food that would've gone off, or was beyond what would pass most people's inspection, especially as he refused to take a lower price for it, and there was literally no use for it except for it to be chucked out, or eaten by him. But, as he said, you can only eat so many substandard honey combs before you get sick of them. And perhaps a new person who hadn't had as much of it wouldn't mind, it'll be a novelty of sorts.

I had accepted his gifts graciously and remembered each and every single one of them. He was a kind and generous man really. Behind his usual mannerisms.

We went to the store. He wasn't in today, he usually took the day off near major events such as the Reaping, because since his store was a town staple, he was often bought out or had a huge series of sales around major events. It was too difficult to handle so he was closed for most days such as this. There was one servant who ran it, but generally they didn't know much about the business nor what was going to be restocked or anything like that. It was mostly for just the cashier job, talking to the servant wasn't like talking straight to Duke.

Afterwards, my father went home to deposit the goods, and so he'd have to walk to the Reaping square all over again. We weren't rich, but we were better off than some others in life so we lived near the middle of the District, which was close enough to allow that.

My brother went of to his friends, I heard them all call out to each other and momentarily celebrate being out of the Reaping age, whilst I found my friends.

I was seventeen this year. Just two more Reapings to sit through, I thought. My closest friend was Anna, a girl with brown hair and brown eyes. We lived across each other and had for the entirety of our lives. We were as close as sisters and could tell each other everything. I waved briefly to my boyfriend Neil before he went off into the 18 section. He lived down the block - I had known him seemingly forever, we had been best friends for the longest time until one day we finally kissed and became a couple. It was all smooth sailing since and everyone expected us to be married. Well, there wasn't much dating drama in District 9 as everyone was just preoccupied with escaping the Reaping, work so generally people married the first person they had romantic relations with. He had dark blonde hair and green eyes.

"And now...the DISTRICT 9 FEMALE TRIBUTE..." the escort said, her fingers hovering over the slip of paper, "POPPY VALENTIN."

My mind went blank and my heart lurched. But, I thought as I walked to the stage, I'll find a way out. I'll give the Hunger Games a proper go and prevail, it's worth trying everything you do and maybe I'll win?

* * *

**District Nine  
**

**Georgie Bold**

"GET UP. GET UP. GET UP," came the voice and several bangs on the door. It was my Uncle, and he was banging on the door to the laundry, which was also the door to my room. I got up with shaky legs, today was the day of the Reaping and I was not looking forward to it. It was scary and loud and there were lots of unfamiliar people there. I just wanted to go, stand and look like I knew I was ready, and then once they announced the end of the Reaping I could leave and hurry of back to here. Home.

I didn't like home anyway. "C-c-coming," I stuttered to the door. There was a satisfied grunt as I pulled it open and crept out to...my Uncle's hand pointed at a broom and the mostly clean but could use some sweeping kitchen floor. He motioned to feed the chickens and collect the eggs. I quickly did so, trying to avoid his gaze as I took the broom and dustpan, not wanting to be greeted with the familiar whallop of broom or flogging on my back.

My childhood had been nice and easy once. My father was mostly at work, or he played games with me when he got back. And my mother doted on me and fed me lots of sweets. That was when I was little. Very little. But about 7 or so, I was kidnapped by a trusted family friend who didn't any children to boss or command around for whatever reason, and ordered me to do all the little tasks around the house as he toiled at his work - whatever it was, all day. He tried to sign me up to fieldwork, but it didn't go through as the supervisor deemed me too short and scrawny to be of any use. I was a 12 year old still at the height and body of a 9 year old she said. But I inwardly cracked a smile to myself at my Uncle's fury, I was spared, yet.

I liked to eat sweets a lot. They were nice, and the wrappers were good for fidgeting with, which was another one of my pasttimes. It calmed me down, as well as running. My Uncle hated my propensity for sweets, but yet, he knew it was what to do to get me to listen to him in times when I didn't anymore. He was furious but yet if I worked hard, or was obstinate enough, sometimes, I could squeeze a boiled sweet or two out of him.

"Get ready for the reaping boy. You'll probably get lost trying to find your square go better get there early. Walk yourself there and back. What do I look like? A babysitter!" spat my Uncle.

"y-y-yes sir," I said, changing into some nicer clothes otherwise he would definitely have an angry remark or two to make, before heading outside. I had brown messy hair, brown eyes, and swore the District 9 weather was too cold for us, even in the summertime, so I wore lots of clothes. I headed to the centre of the town and found the crowd amassed from the Reaping pretty quickly. I scanned the adult faces. It had mostly been a dream and a far fetched hope by now, but a little part of me still hoped to see my parents there. Even though I didn't know what they looked like anymore. And I wasn't sure they knew what I looked like either. It was a bit funny trying to find people when you have no idea who you're looking for, but still, it was a hope. I did have my parents first names though, somehow that stuck, so it was something to go off in case...in case of what...I wandered, but had no idea. My dad's name was Martin, my mum's Emily. I didn't know how I would find the. Perhaps my mum could walk out and say to every single person, "Hi I'm Emily. I lost a son a while back called Georgie, has anyone seen him?" and I would say, "here ma" and she would come and give me sweets and everything could be alright again. I didn't know.

"POPPY VALENTIN!" screamed the escort. I didn't know. I didn't care.

Then...

"GEORGIE BOLD!"

With a shocked gasp that I later realised was coming from me, the world blacked out and the ground came closer to my feet. Before I regained consciousness just before I hit the ground, my hands shooting out instinctively to grasp at some element of the dirt ground before my face hit it. How stupid it was, I thought, to not even black out properly. Least I could do was drop to the floor cold, or perhaps fall backwards and he caught neatly by someone, but luck as it was, I regained consciousness before I hit the ground.

"Georige Bold?" said the escort.

"Umm, h-here!" I said. The crowd parted as I ran up the isle and stood on the stage.

"Poppy Valentin and Georgie Bold, here I present you, your District 9 tributes," said the escort with a polite smile as she placed a hand on each of our shoulders and looked at the camera.

* * *

**Author's Note: Hope y'all enjoyed. Georgie Bold was written as a bit of a funny tribute btw in case you were wondering why I took on a playful tone with his perspective. He's not meant to have a chance and was sent for laughs, so I hope you enjoyed the perspective from a fun tribute in this district's reaping :P **

**-Whymsicalbell **


	11. District 10 Reaping

The End of the World: 32nd Hunger Games SYOT:

Chapter 10 - District 10 Reaping

* * *

**District Ten**

**Eilene Kailem**

When I woke up it was unbearably hot. It always is hot here. District 10 is one of the hottest Districts of Panem, in a huge dessert terrain with a swathe of farmland. The individual farms were very far and spaced out, seeing as each farm occupied hectares upon hectares of land. Every family owned their own farm and produced their own livestock materials, which were then collected by peacekeepers every fortnight to send of to the capital. The district's council had a roster of all the different types of livestock farms there were already, and the ones which the capitol wanted and so you had to register a farm under one of the demanded categories by the capitol before you began. Since most people's land was quite big in comparison to themselves, even the smallest farms were quite sizable, most people lived in ranch houses which could afford to be a little bit bigger because of the excess space, so we actually had quite large housing.

But ours was still of a humble size, so there wasn't enough room for all of my siblings and I to have our own rooms. I shared with my sister Lerene. I glanced over to see her lying on her side, eyes closed and seemingly sleeping soundly. But it appeared she wasn't actually in deep sleep because upon hearing the rustling of my covers, she cracked open her eyes and glanced at me.

"It's hot yeah?" I said as way of conversation as I changed into my Reaping clothes, "The heat never stops biting." Indeed it didn't, District 10 was one of the largest Districts in Panem, and the heat seemed to occupy each and every crevice of space like a hot frying pan. There was just a little patch of greenery and grass sometimes for the livestock, and of course, the odd tree or two, but for the most part, it was just dessert. We had adequate ground water and plenty of troughs so the livestock weren't in actual danger of dehydration, and the richer families could afford to build quite extensive shelters, however we were middle class only and couldn't. The richer families lived closer to the centre, and the poorer ones further.

"Wish there was air con," said Lerene. There was air conditioning in the Justice building. We had all felt it's luxuries as we stepped in to bid goodbye to our oldest sister Kairene, who died in the Hunger Games no more than 4 years ago. I still remember her death. It was a cruel and bitter thing. She promised us she would have to try for us, and so she made it out of the cornucopia alive and floundered for several more days in the jungle like arena, we watched and poured in our life's savings as she slowly weakened from thirst and hunger, and in the end, died to another tribute. Her death was quick, but it hurt to see her suffer. Kairene was a kind and gentle soul, she did well in school, she was friends with everyone, even the unpopular kids, she couldn't bare to see another person suffer and when she grew up, she wanted to own a bunny farm. She wasn't made for the Games, and I half wished she just stepped of a mine early and died a quick death there and then without suffering for several more days before her timely death.

"The heat is terrible, but it wouldn't be home if it wasn't hot," I said, "District 10 - the land of sunshine."

And so we laughed into the morning before Lerene peeled off her covers, got changed and then we both washed up in the bathroom. Kairene had been the eldest of my siblings, she shared with Hemene, who was 20 this year. After her death Hemene couldn't bare to replace her so she slept in that room by herself. Lerene was 17, and I was 16, we shared a room ever since we were babies and remained sharing one. Kallomie, who was the youngest in the family, was 12, he slept by himself in the last and smallest room of the house. Most families in District 10 were pretty big because the more hands for farm labour, the more profits and security your family had. Most ranches were built with many bedrooms, though some more intensely occupied and shared than ours. I liked reading books and writing my own. When I was older I wanted to write my own books, have a large family as I loved the idea of one, and go horseback riding in my spare time. That was the life I dreamed of.

After we dressed we went downstairs for breakfast. We had fed all our livestock and left extra food in their pens yesterday because we just wanted to focus on the Reaping today. Otherwise we would have woken up earlier, it was better to get up at the crack of dawn and do things before the full heat of the sun came out. Most families were early risers in the District. And we used horsepower to get about because the capitol weren't kind enough to supply each individual farm tractors or anything. Horses could cover the distance from one end of the farm to the other in a jifty, and they each had their own distinct personalities and temperament. I loved horses and horseriding.

"Kallomie, I bought you a special something," said my father, taking a sawtooth necklace and giving it to him, "this year is your first Reaping and I wanted you to have this as a token in case you were Reaped. It's been in my family for several generations, and now I can finally pass it of to the eldest son."

He accepted it gingerly. My mother dabbed at her eyes. Ever since my sister's death we didn't talk about the Reaping, the Games, nor the 28th Hunger Games in our family anymore. Before that though, we used to talk about it all the time, and play stupid games of 'who would live the longest' if they were reaped. People said I would be an unexpected survivor, the one who managed to live the longest, as I was brave and curious, and those traits would see me well. Plus, I knew how to live in a dessert environment so I would get an advantage if that was what the arena was like, I could be underestimated, I had basic water-finding, edible plant and medical knowledge, and I was good with horses and maybe some other animals.

"Are we ready?" asked my mother once we were all done eating, "let's get seats in the civics building before the heat of the midday hits us." And so we scrammed to do last minute checks on our hair and clothes before we left.

I glanced at myself in the full length mirror in the living room for Lerene was occuping the one in our bedroom. I was about 165 centimetres tall and normal build at 10 and 1/2 stone. I had red hair, pale skin, freckles and green eyes. After a check that my clothes weren't too wrinkled, ruffled or out of place, I headed out to the stables to get ready for the ride to the centre of the District. The horses that were used for transportation around the farm and District were kept in stables near our ranch. The District was often nicer on the Reaping day, with the ones living nearer in trying their best not to ride their horses to the Reaping and walking in the humid heat for as long as possible to save pen space.

A few of the families nearer to the centre of the District freed up their stables and pens to allow for horses from the outer families to be stocked whilst they were at the Reaping, providing adequate water and shade and helping families load their horses in. The ones from the middle to outer district rode their horses to the civics building. There was just enough stables for all the horses every year, though every year the number of families and horses was steadily increasing and it was becoming more squishy. Soon the council would probably have to chip in and build more pens beyond the usual number they provided.

Once we were there our parents tended to the horse, whilst my siblings and I hurried into the building to find our age groups. I met up briefly with my friends before the Reaping was to begin.

"Hey. Do you guys want to hear a secret?" asked Harriette, 16, her family worked somewhere under the local council and she lived closer to the centre than any of us. My two other friends Jaye, 16 and Lomi, 15, leaned in with me as we frowned at each other.

"What?" asked Jaye.

"Apparently this year's arena is going to be very special," said Harriette, "I saw in a promotional clip that was playing on the mayor's television in the council room when I wasn't meant to."

We leaned in even further.

"They kept saying it was 'End of the World' and apparently this arena was going to be super special. Sorta like an End of the World theme. Apparently there's a steep drop somewhere,"

"Flat earth?" said Lomi with a frown, "didn't know the capitol was that stupid."

"Maybe they're playing with the idea of the flat earth that people were think about when they used to think 'end of the world'. Either way, the arena's related to the theme," said Harriette.

"Thanks, and remember the promise that if one of us is Reaped, we all out our pocket money towards it and do everything we can to help each other survive," said Jaye.

"My sister didn't have that," I murmured, "her friends didn't think to arrange such a thing. When she was reaped they were so horrified it didn't come to their mind. They mostly just weeped and then she died and-"

"It's okay, it's okay," I felt the strong comforting reassurances of my friends' hands move around me, holding me close. I bit back tears, but vowed that if I ever got Reaped, I would give it a go, and actually make it out. I was brave and curious, I liked exploring things and finding new situations or things, I was more of the type of person who was prepared for the Games. Not my sister...who was a kind and sweet soul that wanted to own a bunny farm and really did not take too well to the Games.

"We'd better go," said Lomi, pointing at the fact at the Reaping was nearly about to begin. We quickly split up.

Fifteen minutes later.

"EILENE KAILEM". I took a deep breath, and marched on stage. The Hunger Games was a battle, a challenge, but one I'd meet with bravery I will, I thought. What luck was it that 2 tributes from the same family got drawn in recent years? I will _have_ to make it back, I thought with a surge of determination. Thinking of my family home, the voices and laughter of my siblings, the look on my parents face. I _will _make it back as a victor, win the Games, and prove to my family that they didn't have to lose another daughter. _I will not let my sister die in vain._ I will learn from her mistakes, starting from the fact that she mostly ran away from the reality of the Hunger Games since she was reaped, didn't create much of an impression nor image for herself with the capitol, and just wasn't ready. I will start planning and plotting from day one, I thought as I boldly graced the stage. _I will plot and plan and be determined to win, calculating and judging everything. I'll have a strategy and the motivation and ire inside me that wants to get out, make it out alive. _Bring both myself and the haunted memories of my sister out of the arena. Maybe my people could think of her death with more ease knowing it, and her experience, helped me understand the Games better and defeat the capitol at it's own cruel Games by emerging with my life and the blossom of hope along with the memory of her.

* * *

**District Ten**

**Cattle Fenced**

I woke up early in the morning at the crack of dawn. This made for smooth running of the farm as the hot sun hadn't come out to bother people, and made for a more productive series of tasks - achieving more than slightly later in the day. I went out to change the water for the sheep and cattle. My family's farm was a wool and milk farm. The majority of our efforts went into producing wool which got sent to the capitol, then sold to District 8 for a mark-up, and milk. It was important to keep the livestock in good health for when they depleted their use for wool or milk, we sold them of to some of the meat production farms only, which had large abattoirs for the production of meat. The majority of our livestock were female, as they were less aggressive than males. Though we had a deal with the bull farmers to borrow their bulls for a breeding session every year. The majority of the livestock in the District were female animals actually, as male ones could definitely pack a lot of damage without much warning. For a District with average healthcare, low income and resources, and little regard for our lives from the capitol peacekeepers, anything that threatened the District's population in the day to day happenings of one's job wasn't great.

I loved my job. To be on task was incredibly important because you needed your full attention and energy to complete a job well done. There was no going half way, there was no point in doing something but missing the minor details, or skipping around here and there. To do a job completely right from start to finish, was a luxurious act in itself. My father had always raised me to be the best I could be. He was less wealthier in his childhood, not the poorest or the worst family, but he was substantially below average, and he worked himself up, building this farm from scratch and expanding it from wool to milk. Originally he chose wool, believing milk was too overdone, but after some time and seeing that there were in fact numbers, he expanded to include milk as well. This was a sensible choice, if there was a plague one year that only affected sheep or cows, we would still have the other.

When I was older, I wanted to start a new farm which was focused solely on meat. They were the most profitable industry and the richest families, or the ones with the greatest profits from their products, were those that ran large meat abattoirs. But to manage a livestock farm which solely produced livestock for meat (and they mostly had to be male as the flesh was tougher, held it's shape better and more tender and juicer once it was done) one generally had to be big and strong. Or at least, have several well built people in the family in order to manage it.

I finished my jobs of changing the water, putting in new food, sweeping the dust, debris and fallen branches of trees out of the enclosures. Of chasing the sheep and cows around the paddocks slightly on my horse, Rover. It was good to chase the animals around at least once every day. It gave them exercise which lowered aggression against each other (even among the females of a species, there could be some slight drama between them), made them less frustrated and improved their immune systems. Animals tended to fare better under harsher conditions that come to the farm if they have a little bit every day. It wasn't too much nor harsh, just enough of chasing them around on horseback to give the ample amount. Then I did a basic check of the animals to see if any was obviously injured or ill, all before hoping back on horseback and riding to the home ranch.

My family lived fairly close to the centre of the District. We weren't the richest, but we weren't too far off from it either. One tier down, so our farm was a respectable size and it was a hearty gallop back to base. I got of the horse, led it to it's stables where I changed it's water, restocked it's food, brushed it's fur and rubbed it's neck gingerly - horses were like humans too, they all had their individual personalities and it was worth building a bond between them, before heading inside where I cooked breakfast for my parents before waking them up and getting changed for the Reaping.

It was just my father and mother in this household. I didn't have any siblings. My father was an ambitious man who empathised good work ethic above all else. He taught me that whatever job I needed to do, to do it well and give it my all. My mother was a school teacher, she was often quiet and serious in demeanor, spending a lot of time at home pouring over lesson plans and teaching to the curriculum at school. She empathised organisation and punctuality above all else.

I had been told I was quite a serious person. I didn't have many friends because I was too focused on learning how to manage the milk and wool industries when I was younger, as well as researching how to manage a meat production farm, that I didn't put too much effort into them. I didn't mind. I could joke and talk to people if need be, but I just felt no desire to. I was serious because I didn't do anything frivolous nor silly with my time, though I was fairly normal in all other regards.

I glanced at myself in the mirror. I had grown unusually tall, being an astounding 7 ft, weighing about 250 lbs and somehow putting on muscle easily. Both my parents had been tall and well built, but I towered over them by a foot or so. I had light brown hair that had a natural sort of zaniness to it, and was never really straight, and corresponding light brown eyes. I had a plain and serious expression on my face the majority of the times.

After checking that my clothes were decent, I headed downstairs to eat breakfast with my family, lapsing into my own thoughts as I did so.

I was planning to volunteer for the Reaping this year.

The kitchen clock ticked. The striking of the clock's second hand bringing me back to memories years and years ago at the same table.

_Twelve year old me, sitting here, against the flat wooden table, food in front of them, watching a rerun of the Hunger Games on the old black and white tv our family was lucky to afford with a wide-eyed, mouth open grimace at it. _

_Asking my parents why we were suddenly watching the horrific events on our television when usually we shut of our screens and didn't visit the square save to donate a decent amount every single year after the Reaping occurred. _

_"It has significance because you're old enough to be reaped honey," said my mother. _

_"What does that mean?" I asked, confused at the significant part. _

_"It means you now have the responsibility to be called into the Games at any moment to play against 23 other tributes across Panem with only one victor," she explained. _

_"A responsibility that's on your shoulders the moment you turn twelve to eighteen," said my father, "there's no escaping it." _

The clock hands wound themselves irreversibly forward, the shadows stretched across the room as days and nights passed until another year was gone. Thirteen.

_"It's an embodiment of the system. Inescapable. Once you're between the age," my mother had said. _

_"Trying to, running away from the District, pleading at the capitol, committing suicide obviously in the arena. All results in severe punishments and hardships for your family. You can't run away from your responsibilities," my father had said._

_"Why do we have this responsibility to play the Games well?" I asked, frowning, "doesn't seem like the ideal society for youth from our school's sociology textbooks." _

_"That," my father said, "is just a product of this country's sick sick psychology. But still, responsibility you have, responsibility you should learn well." _

Years flashed by. Time ticked. Fifteen now.

_"What should I do to prepare?" _I said, _"In case I get reaped." _

_And then my father spoke for the longest time I'd ever heard him talk. _

_"You do what you can do to survive. It is your responsibility to understand and accept gracefully you may have to be called into the Hunger Games to fight against 23 tributes across Panem at any point in time between this age. It is your responsibility to understand and accept that you cannot run away from the District, plead the capitol or do any sort of outlandish desperate attempt at getting out of it. Because that's not the way the society's set. That's not being responsible, it's just going to get you or your family punished in horrific ways. It is your responsibility to know that should you get accepted into the Games, you try your best so your watching family and District isn't ruined by watching your demise. It's disrespectful to go into the Games without consideration for what your parents did to raise you this far. At least try your best and give it a proper go in case you can get out and see everyone again. And also represent the District well. It's in everyone's responsibility to accept the Games graciously and accept the reality of the Games graciously and with dignity too, if you are ever Reaped. And all of that responsibility lies on your shoulders within this society." _

_"So your best bet," I said, "is to not cause trouble for your family politically by doing anything overtly against it. But to accept it and prepare to fight with all your might if you do get reaped?" _

_"Your responsibility as a 12 to 18 year old," he had said. _

Sixteen. Last year. I had been thinking, flexing in front of the mirror.

_"Suppose I had a chance," I said. _

_"Anything could happen, and anything does in the arena," cautioned my father. _

_"Don't count on it," said my mother._

_"Say I did. Say I was the best person equipped to handle the Games. Could I possibly win it, spare another tribute of suffering if I could." _

_"Well, to be very realistic, height and muscle are two fields given their weighting in the arena and the capitol betting pool," said my mother, in her usual logic no-nonsense way, "They would net you some advantages." _

_"Suppose I'm the one better equipped to handle the duty. Better equipped for the Games. To carry it out," I said, "suppose it's not a fear that keeps chasing me every year where my name could be called at the Reaping. Suppose it's a challenge." _

_"Goodness me, you're not thinking of volunteering are you?" _

One year later and I still hadn't changed my mind. Three hundred and sixty-five days later, it still seemed a good idea. It was calling out to me, like some sort of duty. It made sense. I sized myself up and down in the mirror. Even the careers were generally not more than a few inches past 6 feet. I don't doubt there were well-fed, heavily trained youth in the career Districts of that stature, but for some reason, the more closer to average ones tended to do best in whatever sick little pre-games fighting they had to determine the outcome. The problem I sensed was, the career districts were too restrictive in their training. Too stick-in-a-mold. For the male tributes they hoped for someone a little above average height, around 6 feet or so, but no taller. All their techniques, all their self-defence, martial arts, weapon techniques, it was all made for mostly, that perfect tribute which fit that exact mold. They didn't teach the particularly tall tributes any ways to manage that extra height to their advantage. Or a natural way of fighting that came to them. It was mostly stick them in the same mold, and the winner of that mold gets Reaped. They had a certain sort of unaturallness to them sometimes, that could only be from years of training.

Which stronger tributes or the naturally athletic in the outlier Districts didn't. We had a natural sort of athleticism and skill that they were simply just lacking. At even just a few inches past 6 feet, the careers would be a whole foot shorter than me. They'd go up to my shoulders pretty much. And with broad shoulders, and a little muscle to add to my height, I could pack quite some damage.

It just seemed logical to volunteer.

Two hours and thirty-five minutes later, all the ceremonial activities and the like aside. I was standing in my age section of the Reaping, when...

"Troyler Ovan."

"I VOLUNTEER," I screamed.

The crowd parted. People gasped. There were murmurs of shock and dissent echoing all around the District. Like a cobra's waves before making the strike. The cameras fixated on me, their beady little bulbs watching as I stepped forward, and filled up the screens on my way there.

I was going to show them what I was capable of. I was going to show them my duties and make them regret ever making poor scrabbling Districts go through this. I was going to win it easily, kill the careers brutally, it wasn't something I wanted to do, but it had to be done, and seriously win the Games and save another poor tribute from this fate when I believed it was within my power to do so. It would be a boring Games this year, I thought, but it would be played morally right and contain a victor on the right side of moral good.

* * *

**Author's Note: Some people have their readers design the arena or vote for which one they want etc. But I just wanted to say that I have a good idea of the arena for this story and the inspiration really hit, so just so you know, there'll be no voting for arenas etc in the future chapters. That part of the story's been set.**

**Also thanks for reading and reviewing aha, I'm so pumped! Only 2 more chapters to go and then FINALLY the Reapings are over and the pre-games can begin! Isn't it crazy? I'm so excited! We're getting closer to the end (of the Reapings)...aaaahh :D **

**Also, get ready to answer a big series (but not too big, reasonable :P) of questions in the chapter after the Reapings end! I think I'm going to contain a small short POV of each tribute for the goodbye in the Justice Building, then write a perspective of the tributes through someone watching at the capitol (so you get a sense of what the capitol is seeing from each Reaping, remember, at this point you actually know more about the tributes and their backstories than what the capitol has gotten a glimpse of! And to let you know how their angle for the Games is being developed) and then have a decently big series of questions after that. Sort of asking about each tribute or gimmicks or predictions etc etc, just, everything that would be of interest to ask after the 12-chapters of the Reapings, and get ready for those too! :P (But I won't have that in District 12's Reaping chapter because I feel that deserves it's own chapter and not just tackled on the end of 12's Reaping) **

**Right, thanks for reading and sticking with the story this far, I hope you review and - **

**Over and out,**

**Whymsicalbell**


	12. Discontinued, I'm sorry :(

Author's Note: Hello! I hope you're all doing well and happy and it's easier to take this message, I'm really sorry, there's no real excuse for this, but I've decided it's better for me to discontinue the story. Just so you have enough of an explanation to understand what's going on - at the time I started this story I thought I was in a phrase of my life where it was easy to publish and update weekly, and I was able to get into a routine of regular updates. What has happened is that things have popped up and my schedule's a bit different to what I expected. And I've had a bunch of stuff happen to further cement the eraticness of my life at the moment, even though I keep telling myself to write a chapter for this story and keep the old hiatus message up even though it's been months, I just haven't been able to find the time. I'm not actually able to update regularly for the foreseeable future and I think for a stretch of time on my fanfiction, updates would be very irregular and far apart (and I hope those that appreciate my writing, would still find it fun to read whenever I do update :').

Since this story is a SYOT which should use other people's characters in a timely manner, and involves multiple perspectives, I honestly find it hard to it pick up where I left of without a good sense of all the characters and the individual plot arcs going around. If I had a schedule that made regular updates easier I would continue it because it's all in my head, but since I'm unable to, and I don't think I would remember enough more than a year after I began this syot really, I've decided to discontinue this story to not keep you waiting and reflect what has actually happened to it. I'm really sorry, you've given me great and fabulous characters of amazing personalities and backstories I couldn't believe reading and couldn't wait to write, and I'm really sorry all the hard work and effort you've put into these characters isn't going to see the full story through. To the four lovely people who submitted District 11 and 12's tributes (still keeping names anonymised though I know who you are), I'm really sorry you didn't get to see the reaping, and I'm sorry to everyone who put in a lot of work and effort designing the tributes but didn't get to see it through. I had fun and enjoyed writing the tributes and chapters I have so far. I hope you can forgive me for it and please try to understand where I'm coming from, and I learn now not to start syots unless I'm 210% sure I'll be able to update on a weekly basis.

Thanks for reading and wish you all a happy 2020!

-WhymsicalBell


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